The Fall of the Elven Rings: Book of Thranduil
by trekker2000
Summary: (I apologize for any inaccuracies with characters/settings/plot) (part 2 of 4) (see Fall of the Evenstar for part 1) It is time. The evenstar has died. the orcs are coming. Mirkwood is burning. Thranduil's life is balancing on a cliff edge, and no one can afford to help him back up.
1. Chapter 1

Thranduil Part 1

Legolas and Tauriel were standing in front of him, below him.

Thranduil sat on his throne, leaning back lazily, one leg crossed over the other, his cloak draped around his shoulders and pinned with his spider-shaped broach.

As his son and captain went on their knees at the base of his throne, Thranduil stood and strode down the stairs to the ground slowly. He deliberately glared at Tauriel.

The king of the woodland realm stopped just before he reached the last stair, and looked out over the crowed.

200 fresh faces looked up at him respectively, brown hair and nearly black eyes the most common. Rivendell elves. The minority had pure silver hair and piercingly bright blue eyes, the elves of Lothlorien. There were 200 elves in the shadows, most with red hair in green eyes or silver-gold and deep as the sea blue eyes.

"Tauriel." Thranduil's strong and kingly voice rang out in his chamber, weaving around the horns of the elk antlers on his throne. "Before you left, you went with 12 other elves of your kind. Yet you return with only 205. Why?"

Tauriel stood as straight as one of his eldest trees, though the mighty king could see the fear deep in her eyes. "There were many dangers. Orc packs and deadly wolves and hunger and weariness. Only five of my own could survive."

It pained her to say these things. She had trained each of her elves personally and painstakingly made them into strong warriors. The elf captain saw them as her own children. Thranduil knew it hurt when a child died, and could sympathize.

But great kings didn't sympathize. They ruled sternly yet fairly.

"You can just bring in more elves to replace them." Thranduil sighed.

"Lady Arwen gave them to me as a gift, and I accepted."

"Of course you did. She was dying. But do these elves of rivers and the moon really think they are strong enough?" Thranduil asked.

Tauriel glanced over at her shoulder. The 200 elves from Rivendell and Lothlorien all raised their clenched fists in the air and chanted over and over again, "Aye!"

Thranduil looked out over the swaying mass. A mass of jet black and coco brown and moon-light white.

"Silent." The king called. His voice was thick and stern and rang out among the trees with such ease as he didn't need to raise his voice for it to be heard over the clamor of any occasion. He made a point to connect his own deep-sky blue eyes with Tauriel's flaming green ones. "Train them well."

The beautiful she-elf broke the intimate contact as she lowered her head respectfully.

With that, Tauriel turned 'round. It was almost like magic that 200 travelers and 200 natives diverged in the center, black and gold and silver mingling as one.

The natives helped guide the newcomers into fit ranks. The group turned and saluted respectfully towards Thranduil, then marched to their hollows, where the Silven Elves resided inside of the Mirkwood halls.

The king breasted the last step to come face to face with his son, who was just rising.

"You act to harshly on her." Legolas protested.

Thranduil waved his hand in the air dismissively. "I could not wait for her to stammer through a meager answer, Legolas. We have more pressing matters." On cue, the dwarf friend of his son Legolas strode forward, finally having fought his way through the churning mass of elves.

"Who might you be?" Thranduil asked.

"You need not speak to me as if I were such as a child, for I am bolder than you might guess." The dwarf grumbled.

"That is not a proper answer, Master Dwarf." For once, Legolas didn't intervene.

"Name's Gimli, Gloin's son."

"I am King of the Woodland Realm, Thranduil Vigorousspring." The dwarf grunted, stifling laughter. "I would not snigger, Gimli. For we all have our traditions, and I would not dare smirk at yours, for traditions are not jests."

"Rightly." The dwarf tugged at his belt roughly.

Thranduil nodded once, slowly, dragging it out.

"Your party is on its way. They say another week, at the least."

"Yes. It is a long trail from Erebor to even the borders of your realm."

"Such information I already knew." Thranduil replied. "I was wondering such information as where your people would sleep while we are preparing for attack."

"Anything close to the ground." Gimli gulped, looking over the side of the platform to the ground far below. "Or at the least anywhere the dangers of rolling off are less prominent."

Thranduil nodded again, slowly and deliberately.

"Unfortunately, I have other business to attend to, and I will not be able to show you around. But I am sure Legolas wouldn't mind." Thranduil glared pointedly at his son.

The prince nodded once respectfully at Thranduil before gesturing the Dwarf should follow.

It was a mystery to him how Legolas could befriend a dwarf so easily.

Mirkwood didn't have a courtyard such as Rivendell did.

It only had the main hall that led to the rest of the forest kingdom.

It was in this main hall, right in front of the doors to the forest, Thranduil now strode into. The Eagle King stood, or rather slouched, near the doors. It was clear the huge bird would rather be outside. But that was one think Thranduil couldn't fix. The king had wanted to speak, and Thranduil had agreed.

Given, most meetings happened at the foot of this throne, but this huge animal wouldn't fit, or be willing enough to delve deeper into the kingdom should his size permit.

"The noble king of eagles." Thranduil said, his voice reverberating off every surface so his whisper turned into a yell.

"The king of the forest." The eagle replied, bowing his head in the elven fashion. "It is agreeable to meet with you again."

"Indeed. It has been long years since we last spoke, the Battle of Five Armies." Thranduil replied, bowing his own head for just a moment. If nothing, he was just a bit respectful.

"Yes, it must be." The gigantic eagle sighed. "And yet a second time we meet under such terrible circumstances."

"Indeed. It must be a pattern." Thranduil didn't pace. He didn't lower and raise his head. He didn't stalk around the room. For once, he stood perfectly still. He was never rude to a king.

"You have done great, protecting my people from the dangers. I cannot thank you enough for returning my son."

Thranduil nearly constantly worried about Legolas, though he'd never admit it. The king couldn't bare losing his son for the kingdom, just as he'd lost his lover.

"It was all my pleasure. I have decided it is time to return to the ways of war."

Thranduil was startled. The eagles fought in such a way that mercilessly killed their enemies, but at the expanse of their lives. They'd already lost 4 such eagles in the Misty Mountains.

"The time of mating has long since passed. How many warriors do you have?"

"Some thousand and ten." The eagle king answered.

"That is enough to face down Sarumon's army. But it was small. We are talking billions of orcs. More than that. Trillions of zillions of orcs. The number is too great for reckoning. You will all fall."

"Yes." The king murmured, his voice reserved and far-off. "The world is changing. The time of the elves was our time, and it has long since ended. There is little left for us, and here is a cause we can put our lives into."

Thranduil felt a sadness grip his heart. The eagles had been good allies, and even better friends. A world without them would be a world less bright.

Yet Thranduil had known the time of the death for the Eagles was coming. The prophecy had come true. The nature of Arwen Evenstar's death had been at the point of a poisoned arrow. He knew the eagles would leave this earth.

And when they did, his death would soon follow.

The king of the Woodland realm knew every bit of the nature of his demise, yet he would make those choices. He couldn't just let everyone he'd ever looked after die in one explosive second.

He wouldn't let it happen.

The trees carried a message for him. _The death of the Evenstar has come._

The eagles would leave later that same day.

Then would come his death.

"Can you not see it?" Legolas asked, striding back and forth.

"I can see it, but what would you have me do?" Thranduil replied. Frustration was boiling up inside of him. "Run like a Hobbit?"

"Yes." Legolas replied, quietly. The prince hung his head shamefully.

Thranduil approached him, and put a hand on his son's shoulder. Legolas started and glanced up and Thranduil. The boy was the only one bold enough to hold the king's gaze.

"What is it you fear?"

"What makes you think I am afraid of anything?" Legolas asked. Thranduil almost laughed at the ridiculousness of it all.

"Fear is a deep wound, Legolas." Thranduil dropped his hand and turned, striding to the end of his personal chamber. That was all he was going to offer on the matter. "What is your title?"

Thranduil could feel the strange look on his son's face when he asked, but, wisely, the young elf answer. "Legolas Greenleaf, Prince of Mirkwood, the Woodland Realm, and Heir to the Tall Seat."

"Yes. And what does that mean?"

"I shall be king should the event come that you should perish."

"Good." Thranduil replied, his deep voice muffled in this room alone. He almost had to speak up to be heard, but that was the way he liked it. Being king seemed too easy out there, in those cavernous halls. One word and all the elves in Mirkwood would die to protect him.

But now it was his turn to die for them.

"What is the nature of these inquiries?" Legolas asked. The king looked at the prince and gave a half smile, but it was more of a grimace.

"I must go to war as soon as word comes forth. Whether that be with the Dwarves as friends at my side, or not. I must protect my people. And so shall you.

"I intend to find some way to bargain for the safety of Mirkwood. If the orcs should break that promise…"

Sudden understanding hit Legolas. "You intend to let them kill you."

"If it will buy you prosperity, I will take any risk."

"Father…" Legolas protested.

"Do not fight it. You must fight if the orcs do not take my life as a high enough payment for your freedom."

"Dad…" Legolas tried, but Thranduil wouldn't hear to it.

"If the orcs should be unfaithful…"

"I will find a way to protect the Woodland realm." Legolas responded.

"Good." Thranduil turned away. His eyes burned with unshed tears. He'd been fighting back tears a lot lately. More so since Tauriel grew up and became able to understand her feelings. "Now, tonight is the Feast of Star Light."

"I shall take care of all the arrangements." Legolas assured his father, rather glad to be off the topic of the demise of the King of the Realm.

"I knew you would." Thranduil turned and offered Legolas his rare smile. His son would be the only one to ever see him smile again. He patted the boy on the shoulder gently but firmly. "And summon Tauriel."

Legolas blushed at the mention of her name, but nodded and set off to do his work.

Maybe he should be allowed to pledge himself to Tauriel.

He did love her.

Thranduil was looking out over the small pool of cool water in his chambers when he heard the door creak open, then quietly close again. Any serenity that had found its way into his troubled mind suddenly fled back to its abode under the small sea.

The only thing he could hear that would signal the approach of any elf was the gentle breathing. In and out. Never irregular. It was almost soothing, just standing still and listening to the untroubled breathing of a young elf.

Thranduil regarded her icily, his cold blue eyes staring searchingly at the slim figure of the elf captain.

She seemed tired, worn and rough at the very edges.

"Are you glad to be back?" Thranduil asked her. He genuinely was curious about how she felt.

"The sound of elf children laughing and the elven tongue speaking and singing and jesting is wonderful to hear again."

"Are there not elves in Rivendell?"

Tauriel blushed. "That is different. Rivendell is an elvish abode. Mirkwood is my elvish abode. My home."

Thranduil nodded, understanding. He too had come home after his journeys as a young elf and been glad to hear his friends merrily singing and new children prancing about.

"Do you remember when Rivendell used to be like Mirkwood?"

"Sir?"

"Do you remember passing through as a young child, a refugee?"

"Yes, of course. Splendid colors and singing all around and fires and feasting near each night." Tauriel replied, sounding as if she had fallen into a dream. She quickly shook her head. "But the children and serious, the colors damp, the wind cold."

"Why would that be?"

"War is terrible. It does terrible things. We all lose our color, one way or another."

She was wise. Young, but wise. He told her so.

Tauriel blushed. "Your words are too kind, my king."

Thranduil waved his hand absently. "Only because I have a task for you."

"Anything, my king. What shall you have me do?"

"Train your people. They must be strong. Care for them. Provide them with leather and cloaks and pants. Teach them how to braid their hair in your fashion. Give them each their own blade and bow and arrow fleche."

"I will, to the best of my abilities."

"But tonight, do not work. Do not fight or bleed or cry for your people. Braid their hair for the celebration and invite them. Tonight, the feast of the Starlight is here, and they are Mirkwood elves now. They shall eat with us and get drunk with us, for the starlight watches over us."

She nodded her head, slightly bowing, showing respect to her king.

"You shall be my son's princess tonight, shall he ask it of you." Thranduil murmured. His throat was tight.

Tauriel looked up at him, fear at being teased evident through the sudden flash of delight in her bright green eyes. They really were soulful, weren't they?

"I am but a lowly Silven Elf. You would really let your son, the prince of Mirkwood, even consider pledging himself to me?"

"All love is pure, Tauriel." Thranduil replied as he turned back to the pool. "Who am I to stand in your way?"

Legolas was truly elegant.

His long golden-silver hair was freshly combed, his bangs clasped at the back of his head, his sideburns braided and the braids slung back like a crown just above the simple points of his ears. His deep blue eyes shown bright out of his pale face, his lips in a perfect line.

His silver robes were fastened but two elk horn buttons, his silver pants showing through the flaps. His forest brown soft boots were replaced with silver clothed slipper-like shoes, rising no higher than his ankle.

Definitely his mother's son, Thranduil decided.

The king himself rarely braided his hair. That was a memory he reserved only for his long-gone wife, the first one ever to braid the golden strands. His hair hung loose, the front halves often resting on his shoulders, the rest falling down to his lower back.

His deep blue eyes were more steely than watery. Everything was right there, whilst if you looked into Legolas' eyes, you wondered about everything. People hardly ever spoke boldly to Thranduil for fear, whilst many, children and elders alike, bullied Legolas for his friendships with the dwarves and men and hobbits and scorned him.

Thranduil wore the intricately woven crown of branches and bright red berries on his head simply. Legolas was no king. He simply waited for the crown.

Thranduil himself wore knee-high silver boots, and his own silver robes draped down to the floor like a cascading river, the only thing holding it together his arms in the sleeves and a large, elk head shaped broach, the sprawling silver antlers clutching the ends of the fabric to cover his well-muscled chest.

His cloak was clasped with a smaller, nearly invisible sun-rise red jewel, the cloak itself a rich silk the color of blood.

Legolas had no rings, whilst Thranduil had three. On the finger next to his pinky on his left hand, he had the first elven ring. The pointer finger of the same hand had a ring of white-blue. The finger next to the pinky on his right hand had the delicately woven rose ring his wife had worn.

The only thing that differed between Legolas and his mother was the hair color. Hers had been bright red, while Legolas' hair was the golden-silver.

But the prince didn't know. She'd died long ago. So long, Thranduil was alarmed to realize, even he was starting to forget all the things that made her, her.

Her deep, soulful eyes, the way the Starlight held her in its grasp and fire kissed her full lips. How her voice rang, not so powerful as his, but more gently. She was the mother of the forest.

His family had been torn apart at the doors of Mordor. So he'd come home, pledged himself to Ellirian. Months later, she'd given birth to Legolas.

Time had gone on. Legolas grew big and strong, the realm prospered, and soon his wife had given birth to another child.

It was then a deeper shadow was cast on Thranduil as his daughter grew sick and died because of a plague brought to the edges of the forest.

Seeking revenge, Ellirian had gone off to battle.

And he never saw her smile again. He never felt her love.

Legolas grew up forgetting his dead sister, and clasping onto the fragmented memories of his mother. And even those were starting to fade.

Thranduil knew his time was near. He also knew in time, Legolas would forget him too.

But something told him Tauriel would never forget him, the King of the Woodland Realm.

There was no moon. The gentle stream that fed different pools all over his kingdom was hardly whispering. This was no feast in Lothlorien. No feast in Rivendell.

This was the feast of Mirkwood.

All the light was sacred to the Eldar, but it was starlight that forest elves loved best.

Small torches and candles hardly burned around the feast table. The stars were bright enough to serve all illumination needs.

Thranduil sat in his seat at the head of the table. The queen's chair stood empty for another year. The sight wrenched at Thranduil's heart.

Looking out over the crowed, there were some jets of black in silver in the sea of gold, but the hair was braided the same. They all wore bright silver-golden gowns or robes. Smiles were on every face, and cups of the finest wine were held up in toasts.

There were no forlorn faces or tears shed out of sadness. Joy and merriment and gayness was everywhere.

He king couldn't remember the last time his subjects had been able to shed all their worries.

Tauriel had come with Legolas, both slightly blushing.

Legolas definitely looked handsome. And Tauriel was truly beautiful.

Gimli was making a fool out of himself in the seat of honor. Laughing and making absurd, drunken jokes, his face flushed and his beard becoming frizzy and unkempt as the night wound on.

Thranduil tipped a glass to his lips, and the sweet, reddish brown liquid refreshed his drying lips and dying joy.

He smiled at a little girl with big ears and clear eyes who was speaking to Legolas in screams. The prince found her adorable. He patted her head, and a harried looking father raced up, apologized thoroughly, then plucked her up and whisked away. Legolas smiled fondly and laughed loudly. Tauriel snorted and elbowed him when he dumped his wine on her lap.

Thranduil grinned at the bickering that followed.

Legolas stood and went to get a towel while Tauriel shook her head endearingly. On the prince's return trip, he fumbled as a group of young children raced right in front of him. Caught un-awares, he lept up to avoid stepping on them, only to succeed in being forced to dodge a smiling mother and fall to the ground to avoid the running child.

Tauriel was about to fall over from laughing too hard. Thranduil could hear her tease Legolas as she helped him up. "I thought you were elegant and sure-footed."

Legolas' face was red and getting a shade deeper near every moment. "Children are different from orcs. They are fast and small, and don't pay attention." Tauriel patted his arm sympathetically when he was back on his feet.

Thranduil remembered when he was like that. All smiling and blushing and tripping over children underfoot. Then paying more attention and understanding better when his own little boy had been born.

Something inside of him still dwelt in that mindset. He still felt it, a pure love for his son. All he could see was a little boy smiling and trying to hug him, even though he wouldn't hug back. All he could see was Legolas' crestfallen face when his father stopped paying attention and started mourning, not truly understanding what there was to be sad about. He'd still thought his mother was coming home. Thranduil hadn't let him see her dead body.

The king wore a single braid in her honor that night. It was the only braid he'd ever worn since her death, and only on this one night. The Feast of the Starlight was her favorite day.

Thranduil could still remember kissing Ellirian deep into the night, whilst the starlight gleamed in each other's hair and eyes. He remembered falling asleep, bodies pressed close together, her head on his chest, her back and chest gently rising and falling in a steady rhythm whilst the river sang gently to them in their dreams.

That had all changed when she'd died.

And now, Thranduil could see his own son going down that path. And it stabbed at his heart to know how easy it was to kill her.

She'd put up a fight, sure. But billions of orcs swarming around her gave her little choice but to surrender her own life in the end.

Legolas himself could even die in that same fashion.

That was why Thranduil hoped to make a bargain with the orcs before they had the chance to delve deep enough into Mirkwood to kill all he had left in his small, ending life.

The next morning, Legolas sat down next to his father at the grand table for breakfast. Tauriel wasn't coming, it didn't look like. When Thranduil inquired, Legolas explained she'd gone back to work, training her newest recruits.

Despite this off hand manner, Legolas talked about her hesitantly. His pale face was an unusual color of red.

"Might I inquire about her condition?" Thranduil asked, rather enjoying Legolas' plight, if only in a fatherly humiliation way.

Legolas struggled to speak, and when he did, his voice was far away and nearly an octave higher. "Great." He squeaked. "She's great."

Thranduil smiled and slapped his son on the back lightly. Legolas rebounded embarrassedly.

His son grunted and cleared his throat slowly as Gimli approached, and clearly struggled to banish the flush from his cheeks.

Tried and failed.

"Is my little girl embarrassed?" Gimli teased as he pulled himself up in the seat.

In response, Legolas lashed out, pushing Gimli over the brink of the chair and spilling him onto the ground while muttering, "Shut it." Under his staggering breath.

Thranduil felt his breath come in quick gasps as he fought back laughter.

Legolas turned his deep, blue eyes on his father and gave him a pointed look. Thranduil coughed slightly, muttering, "It's not funny." But breaking into such a laughter that brought tears to his eyes as soon as Legolas turned away to help Gimli back up.

After apologies, of course.

The dwarf seemed shocked at Thranduil's outburst, but said nothing. Legolas tore a piece of bread off of a chunk and spread butter forlornly.

Legolas continued his meal silently, seemingly completely embarrassed.

At one point during the breakfast, a group of elf maidens walked by the table, and began whispering as they passed close. It couldn't be helped. If they walked any further from the table, they'd fall off the edge and plummet to their death.

Thranduil chose to politely ignore the maid's snide comments about someone's status of maidenhood and keep eating.

Gimli was hiding his own grins and looking pointedly at Thranduil to share that fact.

Legolas was calmly taking the taunts. He spread butter over a rather large chunk of bread.

Thranduil would never have been ready for what happened next.

Slowly, Legolas turned to the mocking girls and chucked the piece of bread at them. The tallest one shrieked as the chunk his her in the face, scattering butter all over her face and bread getting stuck in her hair.

Gimli snorted, chocking back laughing and a mouthful of wine. Thranduil turned and stared at Legolas, fighting the urge to laugh himself as Legolas threw a red hand full of red berries and made stains on the delicate white gowns of the maidens.

The girl's terrified shrieks floated around the grand hall and danced on all ears.

They turned tail and ran out of there, but not before Legolas pounded them with black berries.

Legolas looked grim and angry, but broke into laugher when Gimli insisted on high fiving him and Thranduil lost control and burst out laughing so loud, the maidens looked back, scowls on their faces.

The king held a hand over his mouth, but tears of enjoyment flew from his eyes. Eventually he crossed his arms on the table and put his head in the bundle, in an attempt to muffle his laughter.

"Oh gosh." Thranduil gasped after a few moments. "They hate me."

"Eh. They hate me even more." Legolas laughed.

Thranduil pulled his head of the table and swatted at Legolas playfully. "I literally cannot believe you just did that." He struggled for breath after his fit.

"I can't either." Legolas admitted.

"That was the best thing I've ever seen." The king replied, whipping tears of joy from his eyes.

"Yeah. That's the best thing I've ever done."

Thranduil swerved from the water side at the sound of a knock on his door. "Enter."

Legolas walked down the steps stiffly. His father watched him struggle to sit on one of the benches, and even then sit at a strange angle.

"What happened?" Thranduil asked, striding closer, his hands behind his back.

"I was assaulted in the corridors."

"By whom?"

Legolas didn't answer. But that was all Thranduil needed.

"No!" Thranduil couldn't believe it.

"Hey, they are supper fierce when they want to be."

"You let yourself get beat up by a bunch of maids?" Thranduil couldn't stop himself.

"Tauriel could beat me up."

"That's different. She's a maid _trained _to kill orcs. These girls've never left Mirkwood!" Thranduil crowed.

"There were more than the four I pelted with various foods this morning. Maybe like fifty. I was home. I wasn't expecting an ambush." Legolas replied, his voice getting higher and higher.

"You sound like you're getting more and more defensive." Thranduil pointed out.

"Because the more I think about it, the more ashamed I become."

"Good." Thranduil smirked. "You let a bunch of untrained girls beat you up."

Legolas shifted uncomfortably. "I don't remember hurting this much. Ever."

"It's not my fault the orcs have missed tugging your hair and ripping your cloths."

Legolas looked down at himself, then blushed when he noticed the tear in his forest green and brown tunic spanning across his chest. He grasped the ends of the fabric together. "That was the breeze."

Thranduil snorted. "Why did you pummel them, anyway?"

"You heard their comments."

"Yeah. Something about Tauriel losing her status as a maiden…"

"It was an undignified lie!" Legolas snapped.

"Then you didn't…"

"No!" Legolas sighed in exasperation.

"How could they lie about it, if it didn't happen?"

"We were walking back to our hollows, and hers was on the way, and it was stupid to try and walk apart from each other, so we walked together. We got to her rooms, and she looked at me and said goodnight and I said yeah. And then she started to move away, into the doorway and I kind of panicked a little because I wasn't done looking at the way the starlight reflected off her eyes and hair and made them shine brighter.

"I called out, wait! And she turned and looked at me and I got this strange tingly feeling and I just kissed her. Like, really kissed her. Then she kissed back but by then I realized what I'd done so I broke away and ran in the opposite direction."

"You _ran." _Thranduil asked.

"Yeah. I was just really embarrassed."

"You didn't have to run!" Thranduil exclaimed. "No wonder she didn't come to breakfast bright and early."

"I got that strange feeling."

"It's called love."

"I didn't like it."

"No one does. Not at first."

Dinner was kind to Thranduil.

Gentle, quite, slow. Good breads and meats and cheeses.

Legolas sat next to him, and they talked casually.

But not about Tauriel, which blatantly amused Thranduil.

The river sang gently. The stars came out slowly.

But the inky black sky revealed something shocking.

A faint red glow on the edge of the forest.

"Fire." Thranduil breathed. He pushed himself out of the chair and ran down long passageways. Legolas followed, cloak floating out behind him.

A flash of red rushed up.

Thranduil focused putting everything into forcing his muscles to go as strong as they could.

At the doors, he quickly pulled his bow and quiver stuffed with arrows as he pushed through the heavy doors to the forest.

"Were are we going!" The king heard the prince's call.

"The forest is burning!" Thranduil called, panic bringing desperation into his heart.

The elves at the doors looked at him strangely as he brazenly rushed off into the trees, Legolas and Tauriel flocking out behind him.

His well-built chest kept him pushing and pulling against all obstacles, swinging down into gaping caverns in the forest floor then just as quickly pulling himself up into trees to touch the cool sky that made the sweat on his brow chill.

His long legs propelled him over rough terrain and helped him keep balance on thin roots and slick trees and uneven ground.

His crown poked up, adding to his already menacing height.

Thranduil could feel his heart beating. Everything around him lost true meaning. The sound of his heart droned out the misplaced rocks and snapping branches and dying leaves. He could be making a lot more noise then he thought.

His eyes skillfully sought out the safest way to travel. He could pick out small gaps in trees and hills to climb high rises and he lept over the more protruding root.

Thranduil was dimly aware of Legolas running with just as much skill alongside him, so light on his feet it was a wonder. Tauriel was running on the harder ground.

Panic was rising in her stomach. Thranduil could tell. Her ears were pricked, her nose sniffing, her feet making not a sound, her breath coming in short yet sustaining gasps. "The forest." She whispered. "The forest is a-flame."

Thranduil's sturdy arms reached up and found a low tree branch. His fingers kept finding the next branch, his feet skillfully lifting off the one below him.

He came to the top of the tree, and he stood so delicately it did not bend.

Legolas breached the leaves to stand on the branch on the other side of the top of the trunk. His arms had already drawn his bow.

The sharp hiss of the best steel rang out at Tauriel unsheathed her twin daggers and held them tight, bending her knees.

They could have been threatening. If the flames that reflected in their eyes didn't highlight their tears.

"Oh my…" Thranduil could hear Tauriel breathing heavy, her mouth agape in wonder and fear.

Flames rose high into the night. They sliced open the sky and ate the stars.

Screams rang out in the distance. "HELP!" One voice rose above the rest. The tree swayed as Tauriel tensed and sheathed her blades.

"Tinaraviel!" She screamed. A fierce light shone in her green eyes and she jumped off the tree.

Legolas followed, but Thranduil held him back on the top of the stony ridge.

Her bright green cloak fell the ground as she unclipped it. Her red hair was the last fleeting image they had of her for some time.

Legolas paced back and forth.

Thranduil was horrified. His forest was burning. A small village was trapped.

Orcs.

There was heavy breathing coming from the trees, and coughing. Tauriel emerged, half lifting, half dragging a collapsed form.

Legolas helped her pull the lithe form of a mere child up the slope and set her gently against a rock, where Tauriel lay her cloak.

"I am unharmed." Tauriel pushed Legolas away as she bent down to the girl.

The child was small, hardly a thousand. Her face was gentle shaped, her cheeks sloping, big, round, brown eyes took up most of her face. Her clothes were burning off her small body, but no bare skin could be seen. She was a charred mass. Tears leaked out of her eyes.

"Tinaraviel." Tauriel whispered, holding the child's hand gently.

"Tauriel." The girl coughed. "Orcs came. Defenders fought. But they burned."

"The fires…."

"They will fade when they have consumed the village. The monsters are long gone." The child closed her eyes and scrunched her face. Tears and pitiful gasping sounds escaped her thin, pale, cracked lips.

"We'll get you back to Mirkwood." Tauriel promised, her breath beginning to come in short gasps of desperation.

"It's not that. They took my momma. And my sisters. They took all the girls. They said something about 'blood on his hands will make the tree cow.' What does that mean?" She coughed and wheezed. Tauriel pulled the child's head to her chest. When the girl stopped coughing, there was a scarlet badge on Tauriel's shoulder.

"Shhh. It's all okay now. The prophecy does not concern you. All will be well."

"I'm tired. I need a nap."

"No, you can't. Don't drift, no don't!" Tauriel cried. She was clearly fighting back tears.

"I'm tired."

"Don't drift! Please!" Tauriel's voice shattered into a million pieces. Thranduil's heart wrenched.

"I was told when I'm tired just to sleep because when I awake, all will be well."

"It was a lie." Tauriel murmured, tears smudging the ash and dirt streaks on her face. "Don't fade. Please. Don't."

"But I'm tired."

"Just stay awake."

"I can't."

"No! Stop it!" Tauriel shrieked. "You're hurting me." Was the last thing the child heard before falling into a deep sleep.

Tauriel's agonized shriek added to the pain in the valley.

She hugged the dead child's body to her chest, as if trying to hold the soul in.

Legolas stepped forward and grabbed at her. All the fight had gone out of Tauriel. She fell back into his thick arms and wept into his chest. Legolas rubbed her back gently.

"She was just a baby. I remember. I delivered her. Her mom died in the birthing bed. There was blood everywhere. No, she's just a child. She can't die." Tauriel whimpered as Legolas hummed gently. "Tinaraviel"

The trio limped back to their home, more dejected and depressed than in pain. They couldn't run, all their energy had been spent.

Thranduil continued to press on, even after Tauriel began to fall behind.

The only thing that prompted him to stop was Legolas' cry. "Father!"

Thranduil turned around.

Tauriel was exhausted. It was plain to tell. She was on her knees, gasping for breath, her sides heaving. Her eyelids fluttered and flickered, struggling to stay open. She was leaning to one side, ready to fall off into a deep sleep. Then she'd hit the bottom and that sleep would become eternal.

"We must stop. I could use a rest as well." Legolas called.

"Agreed. I must think."

Legolas helped guide Tauriel over the bridge to the ravine and come on to the other side. She fell down on the trunk of a large tree that the base of another huge rise.

Thranduil sat down a few feet up the rise and Legolas approached Tauriel nervously.

Thranduil could see several gashes on her face, her nose was broken, and her ankle twisted. Her breathing labored.

Legolas sat down tensely. Thranduil wanted to shove him into her. This shyness was tiring and childish. He was no longer sure he had all the time in the world.

"Can you push my foot back?" Tauriel asked. Legolas nodded hesitantly. Tauriel offered up her leg and steeled herself. In a sudden burst of speed, Legolas twisted.

Tauriel's body involuntarily convulsed and she cried out, but the pain seemed to last only a moment. She thanked him and rubbed her ankle gently.

Legolas scooted himself closer noisily, and Thranduil felt embarrassed for him in his struggle at subtly, but Tauriel smirked and pushed his arm gently. It was a tired gesture. She was near to passing out in total exhaustion.

"You are injured." Legolas said suddenly, reaching his hand out. He brushed his hand along a nasty cut across her face. When she gasped in pain, he pulled his hand halfway back.

Her green eyes shone bright in the firelight. A wild light was reflected. Legolas reached out again, but this time to her nose. He whipped the blood off her top lip, then used his sleeve to clean up the lower part of her face. Then, he grasped the twisted appendage and twisted.

A sick pop traveled up to Thranduil's ears, but Tauriel didn't scream or even gasp. She sighed. Legolas used his sleeve to wipe the dripping blood off of her lips and chin.

They looked at each other a long time. Not saying a word. Just staring into each other's eyes.

This time, Tauriel struggled to sit up for a moment in her exhaustion. Her hands, thick with her own blood, reached up and grabbed Legolas' head and pulled him down so her lips could reach his. And they kissed for a few moments, before Tauriel succumbed to her wounds and fell asleep against Legolas' chest.

Thranduil didn't remember falling asleep. All he remembered was being awoken by a party of red haired elves.

One of them offered a hand, and Thranduil took it, grateful for any rock.

"The fire is ended. The village gone. The people are but dust." The elf whispered. There were 20 red haired elves. Silven Elves. Legolas and Tauriel were speaking with each of them as they began to walk painstakingly slowly back towards Thranduil's halls.

His mind kept wandering, a lost child in the masses of bodies wandering to find a home.

Flames danced behind Thranduil's eyes, the screams of the burning echoed in his head, Tauriel's wails made his heart wrench.

He would get revenge.

Later that day, a huge group, maybe 4 thousand, dwarves were escorted to roughly his throne hall. Most of them stood grumbling on stairways or tittering nervously on higher perches. They enjoyed the flat ground.

"Thorin, third of his name." Thranduil greeted the king, bowing slightly.

"Thranduil Elvenking." Thorin replied, bowing back. The tiny dwarf looked up at him.

For once, Thranduil was not sitting on his perch. This king deserved respect.

"I can only thank you for coming to our side is such need."

"If Mirkwood fell, they'd come for home next." Thorin replied.

Thranduil's stomach roiled, his blood boiled, his eyes watered. It had nothing to do with Thorin. His home was in true danger.

"Gimli will show you to your ground-hollows. I expect you should feast with myself, my son and the captain included."

"I would be honored."

"Bring your top generals." Thranduil gave a snide grin.

Tonight, he would feast. Tomorrow, he would fly to war in the burned out fields that, according to his scouts, orc legions preparing for a full-scale invasion now begged to be slaughtered.

Dwarfs were sloppy eaters. That was their most endearing trait.

Tauriel and Legolas were drunk and laughing with the generals while Thranduil and Thorin watched, amused.

The dwarf king of the Lonely Mountain was almost as gentle and kind and elegant as a fellow elf. Thranduil could learn to like him.

Songs in rough tounge were screamed out. Drunken dwarves were as tone deaf as blundering bears.

Tauriel was arm-in-arm with one dwarf, singing a rough tune that Thranduil swore would make his ears start to bleed. There was one difference. Her voice rang out icily clear and soft, a beautiful voice. The dwarf was burping and swaying.

Tauriel had to help him sit down again.

Meanwhile, Legolas was staring intently at another dwarf. Thranduil put his head in his hand, sighing when he realized they were playing a drinking game.

So immature.

But perhaps he was better than his old father. Legolas would, without a doubt, make a splendid king.

Thorin turned, his cup raised, and hailed at Thranduil. "A toast!" He cried, his deep voice like the cracked stone of his home-halls rebounding around again and again. Everyone stopped laughing and joking. Legolas stopped drinking and thumped his partner on the forehead, forcing the dwarf to break off. Tauriel stopping singing and boating, put a slender hand over the mouths of the two dwarves next to her.

Thorin raised his mug, and Thorin followed suite. The whole hall did as well. "A toast!" Thorin yelled again. "To the luck of the army and the prosperity of Mirkwood!"

"To the luck of the army and prosperity of Mirkwood!" The group chanted. "Ey!" They all chanted. "Ey. Ey. Ey." Legolas and Tauriel hoisted their mugs of hard beer in unison with the dwarves. "Mirkwood! The army! MIRKWOOD!"

Most of his elven generals had all slept on the floor of the main hall with the dwarvish generals.

A separate, side hall had housed the two kings and their heirs.

Thorin's son Alvett lay snoring noisily next to his queen, stroking her beard gently.

Legolas himself had fallen into a deep sleep, Tauriel rapped in his arms, her snores gentle, her breathing steady, her face placid and beautiful.

Thranduil had been the first to awake. He noiselessly adorned his war crown, his metal boots, his soft chainmail leggings, his chest plate, and his dark green cloak.

Thorin grumbled and turned over in his sleep. Alvett rubbed his nose and got up, grumbling sorely. His bride lay on the ground, looking up at him, giggling.

Alvett stood and grudgingly adorned his own mail, helping his bride into hers.

Legolas awoke and kissed the top of Tauriel's head gently. She sighed and groaned loudly. Thorin awoke with a start and nearly fell off the edge, if Thranduil hadn't been there to grab his arm and restore his balance. Legolas smirked, but quickly gave his apologies.

"Sorry." Tauriel blushed wildly as she placed her hands over her eyes and rolled away defiantly. "I just discovered why hard beer is hard."

Thranduil smiled. He felt the same. And, considering Legolas beat all 10 of the generals whilst getting deeper and deeper into his cups, the prince felt worse.

Despite this, the younger elf stood and pulled Tauriel, groaning pitifully, up to her feet. Their hair was down, in the elven fashion of showing ease, so they each braided the other's long and soft hair for battle.

Legolas adorned his scales under a dark green vest with a blended cape of brown and two shades of greens. His knee-high stiff leather boots cutting off his soft dark green leggings, and deep green gloves, almost black, over his nimble fingers.

Tauriel pulled on fresh soft red boots, the leather reaching over her knees. Over her green tunic she laced a vest of leather and fastened leather gauntlets over her lower arms. Her green gown laced up over the top, the sides of the legs snipped for free movement and the sleeves and neck cut off for free-formed movement and comfort. Under said gown, her red leggings nearly matched the color of the fresh leather, contrasting sharply with the green gown.

The dwarves all wore the same thing, sturdy yet loose chainmail to accommodate their whole body weight, a high-set metal helm, black gloves that reached the elbow, chain mail above. A mail skirt and leggings and soft leather boots finished off their outfits.

"Tauriel." Thranduil approached the young elf, taking her simple beauty in. "How many Silven Elves are ready for field testing?"

"All of them are ready, but to prepare them with tools and braid their hair and dress them accordingly, will take four hours, even with Legolas' help."

"Take the time to give pride to your soldiers."

Thranduil looked over his shoulder before he urged his elk forward.

Legolas was sitting atop his pure-white beauty next to him.

Behind him, Tauriel sat atop a nimble horse herself, the Silven Elves mounted behind in pyramid formation.

The dwarves had gotten a five hour head start, their bodies moving gently yet noisily through his forest.

Tauriel edged her horse that much closer, and Legolas pulled himself over to give her one last kiss.

Then she turned back to her Elves and screamed, signaling for them to go forward.

Her red hair, flowing like a cape, vanished into the trees.

Thranduil moved his elk forward slowly, then it bayed and raced forward full speed. He easily speed up to the front of the lines, counting as he went.

400 Silven Elves, 7 thousand of his guard, 15 thousand able bodied village elves from all across Middle Earth, 600 men from the kingdoms already trampled had come to join forces with the elves.

The army was large. But would it be big enough to save everything?

Thranduil doubted it.

In just four days, the elven company surpassed the dwarvish one and set up lines at the very edges of Mirkwood.

Or tried to, anyway.

The host of some billions of orcs was slightly distracting.

The dwarves stopped and smashed their axes against stone. Thranduil gulped.

"Elves!" He called in their own tounge. "The orcs are clumsy in the forest. Our party that are not advanced on horseback shall fall to thee tree lines. Otherwise, stay out and die."

The 15 thousand fell back into the trees, where they were twenty times as deadly.

Under Thranduil's orders, the horses were tied up for now whilst the company fortified itself.

The corpses of the trees were burned tough, the singed points easily able to pierce or cripple armor. Silven Elves cut up the blackened trees, sharpening them into deadly spikes. Men dug huge trenches, and the Silven Elves stuck their pikes in the bottoms. Every elf apologized as they chopped down a tree, but the forest did not seem to mind.

The elves had been kind and caring for many years, the forest would gladly give itself for the elves protection.

The chopped down trees were dug into place in-between the two sections of trenches. If the wall was somehow breached over the first trench, a second would open to meet them.

Many bodies had been found in the fire.

Bones of elves and creatures stuck like teeth from the wall of wood. Blood was doused over the wood to protect the material from catching fire. Everything left behind by the massacre was used. Nothing spared.

The village elves pulled fresh branches from the trunks of the trees used for the walls. The smaller fingers and leaves and needles were tossed into one section of the spanning pits, to hide the spikes more. The branches were stripped of bark, the skin of the trees was used to fuel the many fires the elves and men had spread around for fire arrows and burning foes alive.

Inside the camp, there were dozens of small pits the elves and men had to be careful not to fall into. There were no spikes in those. Just fire.

The bare limbs were danced over the fire pits until they caught flame and were tossed back onto the ground.

Elves poured water into other pits. Water full of floating chunks of shattered steel and bones like the skull that could not be turned into teeth for the walls.

Everyone busied themselves, cutting down trees, stripping the bark and throwing it into the fire pits, adding new found pieces of shattered steel and bone and adding them to the already pointed edges of the water pits. More and more blackened sticks were stuck in the pits, and after that, the elves started crafting a field of hard spikes, blood drenched to fight flame.

If an elf found the courage, they would look over the wall into the rising and falling slops of the fields. Spikes were hiding from all view held by the orcs.

But still they churned, waiting.

Before Thranduil had been aware, three years had already passed in this field, digging and fortifying. Preparing for the Battle of the Fringes of Mirkwood.

One young boy, maybe now 19, had brought this to his attention. "We've been out here three long years, and still they do not come."

"They should come on the fifth year." Thranduil replied, remembering the patterns orcs, from everywhere, liked to hold.

"I'd rather like to die sooner."

They'd stopped cutting trees down soon after the third year began. They now started to fill in cracks with wet mud that would dry and become near impossible to break.

Thranduil finished a pit of spikes. Now the burned spikes were even more deadly.

As time went on, days flew by, months passed, and years wilted, everyone began to become weary. Thranduil hadn't celebrated the feast of starlight for three years, now bordering on four.

Every night, dwarves sharpened their axes, men boldend their blades, elves flexes their bows and fletched new reserves of oils.

Every day, elves went to the sites of the genocide.

Every month, a scout who had been seeking around the rest of Mirkwood would come back with no news but idleness.

Every hour, the orcs screamed, a broiling mass hungering for blood.

"When the day should come these orcs should attack and slay us all, I must ask you something." Legolas caught Thranduil's attention.

"Yes?"

"If we should survive, and live to make it back home after this battle, should you allow us to pledge?"

Legolas didn't have to detail who 'us' were.

"I should be proud, my dear son."

All at once, on the cracking dawn of the fifth year, the raucous calls of the orcs grew louder and more intense.

Their harsh tounge was floating out over the huge field, the gentle rising and falling slopes where spikes lay hidden.

Thranduil understood their words, floating on the breeze.

"ARM YOURSELVES!" Thranduil cried in elvish, dwarvish, and the common tounge. A surge of men and dwarves and elves went up as they pulled their blades. "FORM UP!"

The men with spears linked together just inside the ditch on the inside of the wall. The archers clambered up the edge of the wall and prepared to fire. The dwarves mingled everywhere else with swordsmen, ready to defend to the last axe.

The orcs were forming ranks, and the smallest ones were hurtling themselves forward. The high moon vanished behind a cloud, and a crackled of thunder made everyone start.

These orcs brandished warhorns, and blew out a deep, long note. The note that brought death.

Rain pounded down the fields, soaking the fires but thankfully not putting them out.

The battle for the fringes of Mirkwood had begun.

To be continued…..


	2. Chapter 2

(Quick Author's note: there are some issues with publishing. I'm not sure if the whole story even gets on. I used to have sections separated with a line of `, but those aren't showing up. Sorry for any sudden jumps or whatever. If it is a really big issue, I'll figure out some way to fix it, but I'll just leave it be unless someone messages me and complains because I don't want to mess around with it when I don't really know much about how this website even works.)

Thranduil Part 2

"KNOCK!" Thranduil yelled to the bowmen on the walls. "DRAW." In one fluid motion, elves and some men drew back their bows, holding the position.

Thin, lanky orcs, designed to be small enough to squeeze by unnoticed, ran closer to the wall, huge cave trolls and bulky Urik-Hai in sparser numbers. "HOLD!"

They came creeping closer.

Over the gentle sloping hills they came.

Charred bones of the trees they'd torched came up in spikes to stop them.

The problem right now was: they weren't surging their full strength forth. The orcs could easily swerve around the spikes.

"HOLD!" Thranduil screamed again over the thick pattering of the rain off the iron helms of the dwarves and a select few of the men. Thunder smacked in the distance and a young boy jumped, startled, letting his bow go.

Thranduil would have been angry, if the flying arrow hadn't went far and pierced and Urik-Hai where the plates of cruel mettle met, leaving a small gap near his neck.

The tumbling orc mutant squashed near a dozen of his smaller fellows.

The elves and men relaxed the tension on their bow strings, waiting to see what happened. All the other orcs and cave trolls stopped to look at their murdered comrades.

A few moments in the rain passed, where Thranduil could hear naught but the thick breathing of terrified men and women ready to die and the beating of his own heart, sounding as loud as a war drum being beating in his head.

Bum. Bum. Ba,dum,bum.

Then a sudden cry screamed up from the crowd of orcs and trolls. "KILL THEM ALL!" Thranduil recognized the words, made even harsher by the language they spoke them in. Thranduil, Tauriel, Legolas, Alvett, Thorin, and the few rangers present were the only ones who could understand the language.

For that, Thranduil was duly grateful. "HOLD!" The boy had knocked another arrow, and was ready to let fly, this time more sturdily. "HOLD!"

Bum. Bum. Ba,dum,bum.

He could hear some of the women and younger children sniffling, weeping gently as they steadied their axes or shifted their spears or flexed their bow hands gently.

"HOLD!" The swaying mass of orcs and trolls and goblins was terrible, their feet thundering on the hard-packed ground, their mouths and teeth gnashing.

Bum. Bum. Ba,dum,bum.

"HOLD! HOLD!"

The swarming enemies began to fall into the pit close to the wall. A bridge of bodies was being made quicker than Thranduil could have reckoned.

"FIRE!" The arrows feasted on blood and flesh as they all met their mark.

The swarm was so thickly packed that the orcs could no longer avoid the mid-field spikes. If they tried to jump out of the way, they'd just smack into another charging beast, which would cause collisions so deadly, near two dozen would be killed each time.

"FIRE AT WILL!" Thranduil yelled in all three tounges present. Rangers shot dozens of arrows into the ragging sea of orcs that wanted nothing more than the death of the king and his people.

The cave trolls were hammering at the wall. It was near time to unleash the riders.

Thranduil turned and lept from the wall. "ALL WHO CAN RIDE MOST SKILLFULLY, MOUNT UP AND SWARM THROUGH ANY BREAK IN THE BARRIER!" Thranduil yelled in common tounge and in elvish. It was no secret dwarves hated riding.

400 Silven Elves vaulted from the wall and unsheathed a number of different blades. The Riders of Rohan had answered Thranduil's call, and near 4 thousand mounted up.

Legolas stole a final kiss from Tauriel as she mounted up, but Legolas stayed. He was a great rider, better than most of the boys who had gotten up, but the son knew Thranduil would rather have him here, to help form up the lines at the wall. Men followed Legolas, and should Thranduil fall, they would need another great leader.

"FORM UP!" Thranduil cried. The horsemen formed in lines of four each abreast, a perfect line ready to break through.

"Spearmen and axemen, form up around the opening as thickly as you can. Stop anything from getting through. Even your fellow man." Dwarves and men were ready to carry out the orders.

Thranduil pulled himself back up the wall. The ditches were filling with corpses. "FIRE ARROWS."

Not all bowmen had the ability to fire the flaming arrows. Two men or elves were on either side of the huge torches that spanned the wall in groups so three men could stand abreast between them. Those nearest the torches dipped the oiled points into the flame, waiting for them to catch, and then loosing them into the fray.

A cave troll fell in the field, his corpse aflame, goblins and orcs flinching away, impaling themselves upon the spears and spiked maces of their comrades.

Thranduil unsheathed his blade and swung. The head of one of the cave trolls trying to break through the wall flew off, and his comrades struggled to pull his body out of the way. When the other trolls finally managed the deed, they ended up squishing a large number of orcs.

Thranduil slashed and cut as he ran along the wall, before vaulting off the end of it back into the camp, where he grabbed a huge torch. He ran back to the wall, pulling himself back up with just the tip of his blade buried deep into the skull of a huge troll.

He went to the opposite end of the wall, were goblins were trying to scramble up. Many of the axemen were up there, swinging away, shoving bodies everywhere. The king of Mirkwood urgently pushed his way through the surge of battle, slaying smaller orcs and goblins as he went.

When Thranduil finally reached the edge of his world, he tossed the torch. It made its mark.

Hundreds of bodies in the spiked pits went up in flame, catching the trolls trying to break through and burning them alive. Shrieks and wailed filled the air as the Urik-Hai raced into the flames, their skin dripping off their bones.

The field was surging was balls of fire and trolls and orcs and goblins were hit by fire arrows. The opposing forces were so many, they had to be so close together to fit on the field that fire spread from body to body. Ribbons of flame consumed the forces.

Thranduil wheeled back around to add his own blade to the swirl of axes against terrible, black iron saws and crude spears.

It struck Thranduil how many dwarves were lying dead everywhere, compared to the goblins.

There were just too many. So many they swarmed over the walls, running screaming through the flames Thranduil had set.

The goblins swung their crude blades and caught Thranduil in the side, denting his mail and making him gasp for breath that continued to fail him.

With one mighty swing, the goblin that had hurt him was missing a head, and seven other of his companions as well.

There was a call in the outer fields, and the enemies began to peel away. The archers kept firing arrows, but none were flaming. The troops dispatched another few hundred orcs and goblins as they retreated.

"Riders!" Thranduil called down from atop his wall, as the dwarves regrouped themselves. ""Run after them! Chase them off our land! Kill the slow and injured, so not let them stop to rest!"

"EYE!" Tauriel cried, the rest of the Silven Elves and Riders of Rohan echoing.

They shoved their way through whatever part of the wall the trolls hadn't diminished, and leapt easily over the flaming trenches.

Thranduil found his way down. He turned and faced Legolas. "Line up all the dead, care for the wounded, do not abandon the dying until the last bits of life have vanished. Line them up and may their weapons lay with them. Do not burn any until I return."

Thranduil pulled the scales from his chest and pulled the rest of his armor off as well. Legolas helped quickly dress the wounds. Thranduil lept atop his elk and bid farewell to Legolas as everyone started to fulfill their orders.

It was his right hand, the sword hand, that had been cleaved at. Thranduil grasped the wound, tightening the bandage, as the elk pounded on.

The beast was sturdy, better than most horses, and could match Shadowfax, Mithrandir's horse. The creature had a rack of antlers so large only Thranduil, who towered above everyone but Galadriel and Elrond, could successfully sit the beast.

Besides, the elk wouldn't let anyone else get near. It was so fearsome an animal that everyone shied from them. His mount was so sturdy and quick for an elk he had quickly caught up with the elves and men riding forth, cleaving goblins and Urik-Hai. Seven Silven elves were surrounding and chopping at a series of cave trolls.

The huge creature swung his mace and struck an elf from Mirkwood down underneath the hooves of horses behind.

Despite the throbbing pain ragging inside Thranduil from the scales being smashed into his side, the king still smashed his blade aggressively into any enemy that came into his reach.

The leader of the Riders of Rohan, Eomer the second of his name, called for a form up. Tauriel's elves hung back for a moment, and Thranduil followed suit, not daring to be left behind. "CHARGE!" Eomer called, and the Riders of Rohan couched their spears or raised their blades evenly and pushed their horses forward.

The horses were becoming quickly exhausted as the ride went on, further and further from Mirkwood, chasing the host.

Hardly one hundredth of the huge host had been diminished by the attacks.

The Silven Elves briskly followed, catching up on the sides. Boxing the enemy in, so they couldn't spread out anymore. The better horsemen shot arrows into the fray, and every falling body in the center called for thirteen others to die from being impaled during collision.

Thranduil soared through the swarming mass and cut through the center, his elk trampling and slashing with him.

Other Silven Elves formed up behind him, cutting a few thousand off from the larger group. They shrieked and charged, but all at once the elves loosed their bows with a high note. Riders of Rohan threw their spears, and Thranduil and a few other swordsmen spurred into the swaying heat of the mess. Some four thousand orcs lay in desolation behind the party as the spurred on, racing forward.

One Troll had near three dozen arrows implanted in his thick hide before he fell, tripping up a rider's horse, killing both animal and man.

The legs of many horse had fallen to the deadly blade, many animals were left behind, bleeding and dying.

Tauriel herself raced for on foot, panting hard but keeping up with the mounted forces. Just barely. Thranduil reached out a hand, and she grasped it gratefully, pulling herself onto the back of the elk. The beast snorted in protest, but went along with Thranduil's wishes.

All around him, horses were suddenly being sat by two or three elves and men as strangers picked up those who were running.

Tauriel's heavy breathing filled his head, along with his rythimatic heartbeat.

"Stock?" Tauriel asked as soon as she had gathered enough breath to make a sound other than a wheezing pant. An ensemble of gentle voices raised above their comfort level to yell back "Empty!" or a small number of arrows were left.

Tauriel sighed as she looked at her own quiver, which was painfully empty itself. She slung her bow over her shoulder and unsheathed her twin blades. She twirled them, making his elk nervous, before reading them for slicing.

Thranduil himself swung his blade a few times, not to warm up before a battle, but to do his best quick-clean of the prized blade. Blood flung off in rough droplets, gore coming along with it. One horse shuttered as a spearmen shook a still-pulsating heart off his speartip and it landed on the ground in the beast's path.

Thranduil quickly became weary when he realized they had long entered the Marshes, having already tramped through the Hills and the Brown Lands.

He whispered to his elk in elvish, and the kind beast reigned up. The orcs and trolls were still running south. Quickly, the Riders and Silven Elves slowed to a halt, and dismounted with Thranduil and Tauriel. Eomer strode up to him, his gaze questioning. He was weary, but the hunt had chased the aches and pains from his bones.

"We must head back. By the time we reach the Fringes, the bodies will be lined up and ready for ceremony." Everyone around him nodded solemnly. "We will walk alongst side our trusted friends for a while, allowing them to rest."

Everyone took up reins or gently whispered to their own trusty mounts to follow.

"As we go along, any men we find will be put upon a horse to return with us."

Eomer led his horse striding along Thranduil's elk. "I must request any dead horse should come too. It will slow us down, but it is customary for the mount that died valiantly to be burned with the men that rode it."

Thranduil called the proclamation up, and set Tauriel to the task of making sure every body was gathered. It was kind of hard to miss them, however.

The colors the riders or the elves wore were so different from those of the orcs they were easily spotted, and the horses the only beasts besides trolls and orcs that lie upon the field in death.

Many living horses now labored, pulling the bodies of many dead horses behind, their riders often on the backs.

Dead bodies were so numerous that the dead horses were piled on them.

The host marched for five days before stopping for a full nights rest. Tauriel and a few others stood first watch, looking around.

Thranduil wouldn't dare start a fire, but as he huddled under his woolen cloak he wished he would have. The ground was hard, there were no provisions, and puddles from the flooding rain were everywhere. Elves and Riders huddled together, trying to fight off the bitter cold with meager cloaks.

It wasn't working very well.

Unable to sleep, Thranduil pulled himself up and stalked over to a group of Silven Elves from Mirkwood. "Are you able to hunt and forage?" He asked. All ten nodded. "Good. I require you to go and bring back anything fit for eating. It has been too long since our last meal, and our people are starting to starve."

The ten elves nodded and went bounding up.

Bowmen had begun to collect arrows of any make, even if they were more difficult to shook or didn't fit right in their bows. Every arrow gave its holder another life to bargain. Another life they could take without risking their own. Every sword was worth more in good hands, but that wasn't what Thranduil worried about.

Elves without arrows just weren't truly elves anymore.

He himself was a very good bowmaster, but preferred to use a blade. Thranduil could shoot far and accurate, and meet near any mark. Very few other elves could claim to do that. Not as well as the king, anyway.

Thranduil sat a rock, joining the watch. He took out his blade and began to clean it free of gore and blood, making the blade shimmer again.

This was the blade that every king of the forest had held and fought with.

It was one of three. One for each elven king. Each was, of course, different. But it was the blade of Mirkwood that enchanted him most.

The metal was the last of the Pure-forged blades made by the elven smiths who had made the three elven rings. Three swords, three rings, three realms.

The blade was eternally sharp, made of silver-gold, the color of the Mirkwood kings hair. The hilt was red, made of a sister gem to that of his elven ring, Narya, the ring of flame. The guard was an elegant and intricate rack of elk antlers.

This blade never had to be sharpened, it was enchanted. The blade itself had an almost red glow.

Thranduil stared at his blade, falling into a revere. Such was a strange sensation he had not felt for some three thousand years.

It did not last long. Tauriel hunkered down next to him, swinging her own blades to clean them of blood.

"Do you not know how rude it is to wake one from a living dream?" Thranduil asked, glaring pointedly at her.

"I am sorry, my king." Tauriel stood, sheathing her blades across her hips, and walked away. She didn't get very far until Thranduil called her back.

"Do not apologize." Thranduil replied. "It is dangerous to fall into a waking dream as such."

Tauriel nodded numbly. "That was what got my brother killed." She replied quietly, as if shamed by speaking out.

"You had a brother?"

"Yes. His name was Ysolla. His hair was the color of rough spun gold, though his eyes were black and harsh. He did not die at the hand of the orcs, as my parents did. His soul had been as dark as his eyes. He left our family to go south, and join the armies there." Tauriel replied, moving her foot through a patch of dirt. "They say those who join the orcs become an orc. Is there truth to it?"

"Yes." Thranduil hated himself for saying it, but it was the truth. "My own mother and brother became orcs. They were captured, and just by being with the orcs, forced to drink and eat their poisons, they became one of the monsters."

"That must have been awful news."

"It wasn't news. I was captured too, though I refused to eat and drink, and they couldn't change me. My brother was tens of thousands years younger than I was, and my mother was always that. A mother. She'd been holding her third child when they poisoned her." Thranduil shuttered. "They turned my brother, him shrieking and writhing and poisons re-wrote his mind and shattered his soul. My mother screamed as she died in blood, giving birth to a child who was already twisted by the poisons of the orcs."

Tauriel shuttered. "Your mother never turned. But, what happened to her, that's almost worse."

"Of course it was worse. Her life ended." Thranduil sighed, looking to the stars. They had been his only hope when the orcs toted them around on their backs.

'How did you escape?"

"I didn't. The orcs couldn't temper me into unbridled steel, to they tossed me into a river, bound at hand and foot. I nearly drowned, but a traveler pulled me from the waters and snapped my bonds and gave me a cloak and pony to ride back home."

Tauriel nodded. They sat in silence. Tauriel had nothing to say, she'd said it all on the day they'd met.

She'd been a refugee child, brought to Mirkwood and safety from the raided Forochel.

Tauriel had been tall, nearly six foot, her red hair was matted and stained and hanging uncut down to her waists, and she'd been so skinny she was barely alive.

She snarled at everyone in the entry hall of Mirkwood. No one was allowed to come near her.

Legolas had been standing at his side, and Thranduil had went to all the other refugee's. The child had come last.

When they had approached her, she'd suddenly reformed her stance, standing as erect as she could, her shoulders pushed back. The way she still stood at attention today.

"King Thranduil." She'd called in a high, childish voice.

"Why are you so bitter, child?" Thranduil had asked.

"The orcs came for me. My parents died for me, my younger sister still in my mother's arms. My father died over them, and the other two girls died screaming. The orcs tore at their flesh, eating them as they went. My mother screamed my name, asking the orcs to spare me, calling me her last baby. But your stupid soldiers came and pulled me from them."

"It was necessity…"

"Do I sound like I'm done talking?" Tauriel had protested. "You could have been merciful, and let me die. Or handed me a blade, and let me die fighting."

"You would fight?" Thranduil had seized the only opportunity that had presented itself.

"I'd die." Tauriel had replied sternly.

"What if I said I could help you get vengeance?"

"I will follow your orders along any road paved with the blood of orcs."

Tauriel trained every day, like these new Silven Elves did. She quickly became a deadly weapon. And Legolas had been furious.

"You just want to train your next soldier." Legolas had screamed. The boy had had a fondness for her even then.

"What makes you say that?"

"She trains all but an hour a day, and in that hour she gulps down a meager amount of food and sleeps, before awaking to start training again. She can't keep going on this way."

"I'm not making her do that, she's doing it to herself."

"No. You're using her rage to make a new blade."

The accusation had stung, but had made the mark. For the next two days, Thranduil had watched her slowly killing herself with hunger and exhaustion. Open wounds bleed thrice the worse on her body when somebody slipped.

The scary thing was, she was changing. Her mind was. She no longer hissed at anyone who tried to touch her. If she had been among southerns, or even men, she would have lost her maidenhood, even before she'd found womanhood. Tauriel obeyed every order.

Someone had cut all her hair off three years ago, when she'd first arrived, and now small sprigs were just starting to grow back.

Thranduil had approached her. Tauriel had been awkward but obedient, standing at attention, calling him "My king."

Thranduil had taken advantage of this, and told her to take care of herself.

"If you train all day, but stop to eat full meals at the break and fall of the sun, and sleep through the night, you will still be near the best bowmen and daggermen as lives here in the forces of the Silven."

Slowly, Thranduil watched her train more and more, simply as a way to pass his days.

She ate healthy, a serving and a half each morning and evening. During the days, she trained fiercely, and she fell asleep under the same tree each night, wrapping a thick woolen blanket around her for warmth.

Thranduil hadn't noticed her hair was red until it flowed down to the floor, and she'd have to have it braided each morning to be able to see out of the forest. It was a handsome color, and it suited her personality well.

It wasn't long before Thranduil noticed she didn't spend her time alone. Her adopted mother, the one who trained her and taught her sums and geography, braided her hair and ate her meals with her, and taught her classes when the sun was at the highest, and it burned through the trees with such ferocity that no one liked to face it. It was at that same time, Mirkwood took a midday nap.

She took classes with other Silven elves, all elves, really. Tauriel never had friends. Just people who were amazed at her talent, hated her, or didn't speak to her. Not including all the boys who teased her. They hit on her, asked her out, but Tauriel always turned pink before turning them down.

Thranduil watched her grow up. He watched his son notice her.

Thranduil was watching her train, beating one of the boys down. They'd just taken a water break when Thranduil noticed Legolas blushing a few feet away from him.

The king had whipped around to see Legolas on his stomach, his chin in his hands, peering through some leaves and blushing wildly. He giggled when she tripped over her own feet and landed into the river, coming up with this surprised look on her face. The prince had sighed when she'd gotten out, grasping for a blanket and covering her shoulders.

The Silven Elves were laughing heartily, and Tauriel was blushing but laughing too.

Thranduil had backpedaled to sit next to his son, surprising the boy when the king fell onto his stomach to mirror Legolas.

Thranduil patted his shoulder as Legolas started sputtering, and his face turned a darker shade of red every moment, until it was purple.

For all his age, Legolas had only found manhood three weeks ago, and wouldn't stop staring at everyone. Thranduil though it was cute, but also felt embarrassed where Legolas didn't seem to be able to.

"It's okay." Thranduil had reassured his son. "I did the same thing, though you seem to have found the center of your affections a lot quicker than I did."

Legolas blushed fiercely.

"She is a very pretty girl." Thranduil replied, and Legolas collapsed wheezing into a tangle of his arms. The father rubbed his son's back gently until his embarrassment had the chance to burn out.

When Legolas finally pulled his head out of his arms, he nodded and agreed hoarsely. "Very pretty."

"But she is just a girl."

Legolas' eyes had gone wide, and his words stumbled over each other. "I would, no, yes, I mean yes. She's just a, a girl. I'd never ever, never think, not even think, about, that." The boy had stumbled to his feet, Thranduil fighting back laughter. Legolas tried to retreat, but slipped and fell.

Clasping a hand over his mouth, Thranduil loomed over the edge, where Legolas lay on the ground, stunned. The Silven Elves were dying with laughter. Tauriel raised one eyebrow halfway up before turning all the way around and offering a hand.

The boy had shyly taken it and stumbled to his feet, his face so red he might have been a summer berry, and stumbled over his words trying to thank her before turning and running off, mortified.

Thranduil lost control of his laughter and started crying, he was laughing so hard.

Later that night, Legolas had supped with him, and Thranduil kept chuckling under his breath. Legolas wouldn't speak to him for a month after that.

One moment, Thranduil was remembering the past, and the next he was being shaken awake.

He hadn't remembered falling asleep, but he must have at some time remembering the charms of life.

Tauriel was standing over him with two slips of dead wood in her hand. "May I accompany you?" Thranduil nodded weakly, rubbing sleep from his eyes, as Tauriel plopped down next to him, setting the slip of dead wood.

It was piled high with two huge, well-cooked chunks of meat, laying in their own grease. There were two apples on the side, and a handful of bright blue spring berries and deep red summer berries.

"The hunters did well. Does everyone eat like this?"

"Um…hmm." Tauriel replied, swallowing a huge bite. "There's still more meat left, but that's packed for when we might need to rest again."

She quickly devoured the berried and apples, and with huge bites began to eat away at the flesh of the two huge chunks of the meat that adorned her plate.

Thranduil himself ate the berries and apples slower, and tore apart the meat before putting smaller chunks into his mouth. He mostly just stared at Tauriel, gorging herself. She didn't seem to care who was watching. She was just mainly hungry.

Staring at her, Thranduil noticed things he never noticed when he just looked at her before. Her hair was flowing down her back, the tips of her ears gently poked out, searching for the light like plants under the cover of thick-leaved trees. Her eyes were intense green, they looked as if they could see into your soul. Her cheek bones were high and her lips were full.

That was just her face. Tauriel had a rather girlish figure, clearly tall and slender but wider hipped and larger chested than he remembered.

When did that happen?

"A year ago." Tauriel mumbled.

For a second, Thranduil was mortified. Had he said something allowed? Or had she been talking about something, but he'd just caught the last three words of some statement?

"You didn't say anything." Tauriel smirked, wiping the grease from her face and licking her fingers. "You're just staring at me. Like, really staring at me, for like the last five minutes."

"I am so sorry." Thranduil gasped, feeling his face flush red. "I was just thinking about when you first came to Mirkwood as a refugee, and remembering, like I think it was ten years later, I was watching you train, but it was high noon, so you were just talking, but I heard Legolas sighing behind me."

"Good. It wasn't just me." Tauriel smirked.

"Yeah."

"That was the day he fell off the rise, there, and I helped his blushing and frustrated lump up."

"Yeah. I was laughing so hard. He hated me for a while after that."

"I heard that too." Tauriel grinned and laughed into her knees, having curled them up to better balance the plate and still talk to Thranduil.

"When did I fall asleep?"

"Five minutes after you stopped talking about your family."

'I have no idea when that was." Thranduil admitted.

"Neither do I." Tauriel giggled and went to work on the second piece of meat.

There was something in Tauriel's face that Thranduil just couldn't place, and he kept staring even though he could feel her shifting under his gaze. Eventually, Tauriel was glancing back at him nervously, her hands frozen holding the piece of meat up to her teeth, which were sunken in.

"I'm sorry." Thranduil shook his head. "Something about your face I just never noticed before."

Tauriel swallowed and breathed deeply. "Good. Okay. Good." She stammered.

"Sorry…I did that once to Legolas and he stared back but I didn't notice for a few hours." Thranduil rubbed his head absently.

Tauriel smiled again. "Yeah, he says you like to stare a lot."

"I don't like to. I just end up staring when I'm trying to figure something out."

"What are you trying to figure out?" Tauriel asked, devouring the rest of the meat and making a desert out of the grease covering her face and hands and the burnt piece of wood.

Thranduil shrugged, "Nothing."

"I call it."

"What?"

"I call your lie. Your face is flushed. You're just too embarrassed to ask for the answer to your question. You'd rather stare at my face, as if it holds the true answer." Tauriel accused him.

"Maybe." Thranduil admitted, shifting uncomfortably. "You've certainly gotten better at calling lies."

Tauriel shrugged. "Time to leave."

She stood up and raced around, getting her people ready to continue the march. After eating all that food that fast, it was a wonder to Thranduil how she could even stand up, let alone race around.

The king himself stood more slowly, and walked over to his elk at a moderate pace. "Time to lead on!" He called in elvish and common. Tauriel zipped around, double checking on everyone.

"We should meet the Barricade in another five day's endless march." Eomer called. They were getting close, and the number of bodies of their own were diminishing, the corpses of the enemies forces increasing rapidly.

The sun rose high and higher, and out here on the plains, Thranduil felt sweat began to weep from his brow and neck. He was tempted to take a nap in the heat, but Tauriel came zipping forward, elbowing him awake. Thranduil started and snorted, his elk sneezed as the king's long hair brushed his nose.

"Sorry, buddy." Thranduil frowned, turning to Tauriel.

"Sorry." She grimaced. "Have you figured out the answer to your question yet?"

"Almost. Give me a moment." Thranduil squinted at Tauriel's face, then his eyes scaled up and down her body. She squirmed under his gaze, shifting nervously. "I got nothing." He sighed.

His elk snorted in his hair, and snot went flying. If he wasn't awake yet, he was now. He'd gotten the message. Just stop embarrassing yourself and ask her goddammit.

Even though his elk clearly wanted the king to stop embarrassing himself, Thranduil still danced around the question. "You look different. In my memories, I mean. I don't remember you looking all grown up, I guess the word is. Like, an adult. I remember you as a child. I…you just look…different."

"I would hope." Tauriel gave him a strange look but her face was flushing.

"You never flushed before, not truly. Like, you blushed, but that's different. You used to blush when you laughed too hard, or drank too much."

"Wow, you've really been staring at me." Tauriel laughed nervously.

"I've been look for what Legolas see's. I found it. But no, that laugh. I've never heard that from your mouth before. You don't usually blush when people just stare at you, like truly blush and wiggle under their gaze. You're one of the few people who can actually stand my gaze."

"Yeah. Thinks are a little different now. I'm so awkward." Tauriel groaned as Thranduil grabbed her arm to keep from falling under the elk's hooves.

Thranduil suddenly filled with understanding. "You really were answering my question when you said a year ago."

Tauriel nodded, still wildly flushed. They were entering a rocky region and she couldn't keep her footing. Looking around, he could see a few other Silven Elves tripping over themselves. "The season of maturity." Thranduil murmured.

"Nah. They're more recent. I've been tripping over myself too long."

"Guys?" The tripping elves stopped and looked back. "Just mount up guys. Please don't kill yourselves."

They flushed but mounted up gratefully. "You too." Thranduil grinned toward Tauriel. "Come on!" Thranduil scolded his elk. "Sometimes you act like such a child." At last the beast relectently accepted Tauriel to sit on his back, but kept snorting in annoyance.

Thranduil got so tired of the elk's snorts, he smacked him on the nose.

That silenced the beast.

The rest of the way back to the wall, the elk was pouting, until Tauriel eventually jumped off, when the dangerous terrain had changed and she preferred to walk. When the group got to the wall, some people were waiting on the wall. Many of the Riders, both men and women, jumped off the horses to meet family that had stayed behind. Tauriel herself lept up, but her trembling body made her trip and almost land in a pit of spikes.

When Legolas had pulled her up into his arms she was laughing and blushing. Their lips met for a few moments, until Legolas felt his hand become wet and pulled away. On further inspection in the early morning light, even Thranduil, from a few leagues away, could see Legolas' hand was shimmering with blood.

"Is… that my blood?" Tauriel asked, looking down. Her midsection was becoming even wetter with blood, along her hip line.

Thranduil stumbled up and looked closer. Legolas looked up, panicked, seeing his father's arm becoming soaked with blood, but the king didn't seem to care. Tauriel looked horrified. She hadn't realized she'd been injured. Legolas led her to the tent where the injured had been treated, and Thranduil followed.

One of the four healers raced for Thranduil, peeled of his bindings, splashed a potion over the wound as she sewed it up, and whispered words of healing.

Tauriel's wound spanned from the lower edge of her rib cage on her left side and went to the top of her right thigh. Healers bound and splashed potion and chanted words of healing, sewing the huge wound up.

Thranduil noticed another scar, white from age, spanning from the middle of her stomach all the way to the middle of her back. Another few inches, and she'd have no use in her legs.

That must have been the wound he'd heard about in the message from Rivendell, before the Evenstar died.

The healers gave Tauriel a potion, and her eyes fluttered closed and her head fell limp.

"She shall awake in four hours." The head potion master said. "Her wound should be healed then, as well enough for her to walk and even maybe fight again."

"There was so much blood." Legolas whispered, his voice hollow.

"I have no idea." The healer admitted sheepishly. "Honestly, she's a few tens of thousands years old?"

"About. I think. Reasonably." Legolas replied. "Honestly? I have no idea. But that's not a bad estimate."

"Then she shouldn't be bleeding that much with that kind of cut." The elder elf shrugged and left the tent. "Védith, look after those three. Get them anything they need. And don't ask questions."

The timid young elf girl stepped into the tent. She was trembling, Thranduil could tell. "Why should you tremble? The battle is over."

"I know." The girl replied. "I've never tended to a single patient on my own, let alone two and a family member."

"What is to be nervous about?"

"My mouth is always getting me into trouble." Védith replied, smiling shyly.

She was beautiful, long black hair that was pulled back and tied roughly, her eyes a warm brown, her skin bordering on melting moca beans, her lips gentle but fitting to her face and severe cheekbones. She was slender and wearing a true gown, not one spliced for ease of combat, but a true gown. It was sable and the sleeves ended abruptly. Her slender feet were bare. For being an elf, she was tiny, maybe five feet tall.

"Where are you from?"

"My father was from Rivendell, my mother from the far south, the realm of Gondor."

"You're only half elf?" Legolas asked curiously.

"Yes. It's clear I have the mind of a small child, always asking such blunt things. I'm always getting into trouble. That's why my mother gave me away after my father was killed by a warg." The girl blushed. "There I go again."

Hanging her head, Védith went to one of the tables. "Anyone want any water? Or food or something? I could go get food."

"No, no. Sit down, please. Just talking would be nice enough." Thranduil insisted.

"I am not supposed to talk to anybody." Védith replied, almost sadly.

"Why not?"

"I make people to uncomfortable, or I talk too much, or I ask too much, and I just make a huge fool of myself." She answered. "And you are king of Mirkwood, and Prince, and Guard."

"The more you live, the more you realize you just talk to people. Forget their status."

Védith shrugged. "I'm okay with not really talking to people though. And I've lived long enough to know to keep my mouth shut."

"No one but the other elven kings and perhaps the wizards are older than I am." Thranduil challenged the girl.

"Of that, I have no doubt."

"What are you hesitant to admit?" Legolas asked, and Thranduil could feel some kind of nervous energy sprouting from the girl.

"I mean I've lived long enough in bad ways to know to keep my mouth shut." Védith replied, clearly wanting to end the conversation.

Thranduil didn't want it to end. He really wasn't trying to be cruel. The king himself had a mentality of a child sometimes. He liked to know the answer.

"What do you mean?" The king pressed.

Védith blushed wildly. "I probably look enough to be a maid. Most mothers have a look about them."

Thranduil nodded in agreement.

"I may look like one, but I'm not one." Védith blushed and turned away. "I didn't keep my mouth shut when I was captured by a group of bandits from the area around Bree. They made me a hostage and said if I screamed for help or didn't stop talking to them, they'd punish me. I didn't know when to shut my mouth, and they punished me. The bandits gang-raped me, and tied me up, feeding me sore bits of meat until I gave birth to two babes, and they tore them from me and cut the babes up, whilst they squalled and I cried and screamed and they didn't like the noise I was making, so they did it again.

"I lost maybe 40 years in that place, giving them children to pull apart and eat, but finally someone heard my screams and saved me at spear-point." Védith shuddered and bowed her head, biting her lip, clearly thinking she'd said too much.

"Cannibals?" Legolas shuddered. Clearly, he wasn't paying attention to her fear now.

Thranduil didn't know how to reply. How would one?

Thranduil wasn't aware he'd fallen asleep again until he'd snapped awake. Tauriel was awake and sitting up in bed, wincing whilst the medicine woman cleaned her wound one last time. "Rest this day away, and you should be relatively pain-free tomorrow."

She nodded at Thranduil as she passed, silently recommending the same to his aching and weary body.

Tauriel groaned as she lay back down. "So many scars." She mumbled.

Legolas shrugged and traced the elder scare, making Tauriel shiver. "I wish I could hide them like you and the king can."

"Why would you wish to hide your scars?"

"Why do you?"

Legolas shuttered as he let the enchantment fall down. Tauriel reached a hand up and traced a finger along the deeper cuts that marred his face. "My father's burned from dragon fire pretty bad. I don't hide the mess so other people don't stare. I can't really see or smell or talk without pain."

Tauriel flinched as she bent painfully upward to kiss his mauled cheek. With another shutter, Thranduil knew, his son was healed again. "Your scars make you look tough."

"Only to you!" Tauriel giggled, nipping at his chin.

Legolas giggled. "Yes, please don't walk around bare."

They laughed into each other for a while at that, until Tauriel winced and sucked air in through clenched teeth.

Legolas pulled the blood soaked blankets back and tossed them on the ground, grabbing new ones. He slid the blankets onto the bed and covered Tauriel, who was beginning to shiver from the biting cold that came with sickness. She grabbed his arm and didn't let go until he climbed under the blankets as well, and she snuggled against him, her back rising and falling gently.

Thranduil himself couldn't have done that. The sick and dying had always scared him, because it reminded him how fragile his own life was.

For him, time was not a stalking beast so much as a weary hunter. It was the blade and arrow that could kill him, with relative ease too.

Not everything could live forever, he knew, but sometimes he wished it was possible.

He wished it was possible for Aragorn, so he wouldn't have to face Arwen's death. He wished it was possible for Tauriel and Legolas, who didn't deserve to die alone. They deserved to live together in happiness and joy.

Pain was just too awful.

Thranduil stood and made his way out, closing the flap of the tent behind him, leaving the sleeping pare cuddled in each other's arms.

The morning was cool, not yet hot but not apt to bring a cold day. Thranduil missed the cold days, but loved the hot. Not because they thrived, but because the stars were brightest when it was hot, and the trees thrived a little more.

Outside, there were columns of bodies, the number seemed uncountable. Just as their swarming foes had been.

Alvett was weeping over the body of his dead bride forlornly. Thorin's hand was planted firmly on his shoulder.

Eomer was pacing wearily.

"Back on your feet, I see." Thranduil said as he approached the boy.

"Yes, the cut was not serious. How is your arm?"

"Numb but faring well." Thranduil flexed his fingers and moved his arm at the elbow.

"Good."

"How many dead?" Thranduil cut in. He had not time to waste for once.

"10 Silven Elves, 492 Riders, 1009 Woodland guard, 709 Village elves, 89 Men from the South, and 1,892 dwarves."

"The best fighters took the worse injuries." Thranduil replied sadly.

"They were bold, had more confidence in their ability."

"That was the end of them." Thranduil replied mournfully. "Are they prepared for a pyre?"

"Yes." Eomer replied, shifting from foot to foot. Thranduil met his point, and put a hand on his shoulder.

"I am sorry. No father should have to bury his little girl." Eomer nodded and thanked Thranduil for his kindness. "We will start the blaze when my Captain of Guards is awake again."

The men and women around him all nodded.

Thranduil himself went to the tent where food was given out. "Three meals."

One of the warriors who had becoming servers since the end of the battle nodded and grabbed three oaken plates.

Each had a warm chunk of meat of modest size, a fresh piece of bread with a honey comb sitting inside the pocket, and an extensive pile of different types of berries. Thranduil set two of the plates in the sick room and left again.

He walked to the edge of the forest, clambering up in the tree, careful to keep his food from spilling.

The early morning air was crisp and unbroken, even though the whole camp was alive. Grisly men and sour-looking women pulled apart meat and shoved it into their mouths. Younger boys were acting as horse-hands now, brushing off horses and cleaning their hooves and feeding and watering them.

Big dwarves stood morning for their lost more than anyone else did, then they got to work. They were leaving the wall behind and returning to Mirkwood, but the wall would still become a fearsome enemy, though not garrisoned. Elves repaired the spikes and made the pits on the inside of the wall even deeper and more deadly. The breach in the wall was sealed, not it was just being caked by mud.

Thranduil nibbled on his meat as he looked down at the bustling camp.

Many of these warriors were just children, barely old enough to hold a blade, let alone wield it in full field battle.

A lot of the dead were children, too. Thranduil even noticed some of the dead women were great with child. _More children were lost before they even could have existed. _That thought tortured Thranduil. All these people, these children born and unborn, were dying to do what? Protect him?

The king failed to understand why.

Tauriel could have been amongst those dead, or Legolas.

Either one could still die. They could still get raided by the orcs, caught unawares. There could be a massacre, just before Legolas and Tauriel had had their wedding day.

That would have been the most evil deed of all.

Thranduil tried to concentrate on the fact that that didn't happen, both were still here, napping in each other's arms, maybe even snoring gently. But those thoughts didn't comfort Thranduil; they just made his heart wrench even more.

Because he looked down at all those dead bodies, all those children that would never birth their own. All those lives that were now left to be unlived.

Thranduil hated it, this feeling of an abrupt, unjust ending. But then again, didn't all death feel that way? Didn't every person that ceased to exist at any given moment do so without permission?

Thranduil didn't have a doubt death didn't stop for anyone, least of all him.

Maybe it was time to stop trying and just give himself over.


	3. Chapter 3

Thranduil Part 3

Legolas looked handsome. This was the first day in many he was well rested, his silver-gold hair combed and unbraided. His blue eyes searched the crowed, and finding Thranduil, raced over to his father.

The boy seemed nervous, bouncing on the edge of a total breakdown.

For once in a long time, he wasn't wearing armor. It was his promise day.

"Are you weary?" Thranduil asked and his son bounced on his toes next to him.

"Weary? No." Legolas replied. "Just…nervous and exited."

Thranduil smiled knowingly. He'd been so nervous he'd trembled. The king was just better at hiding things than his prince. He put a hand on Legolas' shoulder to steady him. "Don't jump around like a child, Legolas." He scolded.

The prince flushed slightly and stopped bouncing, that was, until his father removed his hand. Then he started up again.

"It's almost time." Legolas muttered under his breath, picking at the skin on his thumb.

"You're going to make it bleed." Thranduil scolded, swatting his shoulder. Legolas just went to biting his lip. "Why are you so nervous?"

"Why not?" Legolas replied. "It's my marriage day."

"Yes, and you look like you're about to pass out." Thranduil replied.

It was true. Legolas' face was pale beyond elven complexion, it was almost getting kind of scary. His breath was coming in short gasps, almost labored.

"What can worry you so much you break into a fevered sweat?" Thranduil asked and he swiped a hand across Legolas' brow, his hand coming away wet.

Legolas shrugged and didn't seem to want to talk anymore. Thranduil sighed. Sometimes his son was such a kid, despite being a few hundred thousand years old. His childish behavior sometimes made Thranduil regret everything.

Whatever nerves Legolas had been feeling weren't forgotten or abandon, but made less when he saw Tauriel.

Her orange hair was freshly combed and loose. Thranduil didn't remember the last time she'd worn her hair down to do anything besides sleep.

Tauriel also wore an actual gown, not one spliced for battle, but a true gown. The gown of a princess to be. It was a deep emerald green with a golden belt. She was clearly uncomfortable in these cloths that offered no chance of winning a fight against orcs whilst wearing them.

No matter how strange she looked, she was definitely beautiful beyond measure.

Thranduil hadn't been paying attention to the vows, but realized when they were over. The prince sealed his promise with a kiss.

When Legolas broke away, Tauriel laughed at his blushing and wrapped her arms around his neck tighter and pulled him so close Legolas lips were pressed against hers. The prince's eyes grew large and the audience laughed good naturedly.

Legolas and Tauriel were adorably in love. They sat apart but her legs were draped over the top of his and she grinned and shared food and drink.

Thranduil was overjoyed. He himself allowed more cups that he probably should have. He deserved to indulge himself on special occasions.

The bonding of his son and captain was one such occasion.

The couple themselves over drank, Thranduil noticed, and more than one thing would happen later between them. They'd be regretting it tomorrow when they'd have to sit in court hung over and pinning.

As the celebration began to diminish by the absence of elves who remembered they actually had to be productive again tomorrow, Thranduil stood and swam in the strong wine. It was good, but strong. There would be a decision he'd come to regret in a few hours.

The king found his way slowly to his rooms. Once inside, he disrobed and waddled over to the warm pool, slouching so the clear waters could rise up to mid neck.

He heard the soft pattering of feet that told him elves were walking on the passages above, and was sourly grateful that he grove of trees and passages was too thick for anyone to see him lounging in the water, naked as his birth day.

The water was soothing, and softened his muscles until he could feel the beat of his heart and tell the rhythm of his breathing.

There was so much pressing business to attend to on the morrow, Thranduil didn't mind when he drifted into a deep sleep, letting his hair float freely around his head as he floated onto his back.

The next morning, the bright light of the sun lanced through the trees to reach his face and awake him.

For once, he hadn't dreamed. All the horrible battles he'd fought for Mirkwood's protection haunted him, especially the one off the fringes. All the children burning, the mothers with as yet unborn children. He'd gone on plenty of chasing attacks, his elk still his ever-faithful companion.

Resent estimated put the orcs at 8/10 their original power, not counting orcs that might have gone to Lothlorien or Rivendell, or might still be lurking in the south.

His newer patrols would be coming in early this morning, and would tell him the news on the Wall, in the ruins of Dol Guldor, the area of Erebor and Laketown, along the Carrock, and the Grey Mountains. A few rangers had gone further out to check on Lothlorien and Rivendell, some had gone far south to scout the land of men, and some even further south to seek the source of these evils.

Those rangers weren't expected to return.

Thranduil dressed himself and had a modest breakfast of bread laced with honey and jam. It would be a long day, and stuffing ones' self before having to sit still for hours on end it not the wisest thing. Thranduil grinned when he thought of Legolas and Tauriel.

Poor losers.

Thranduil rarely sat on his throne now. He barely wore his crown. It seemed too heavy. When he wore his crown, he remembered all those people who'd died so he could keep it.

Instead, they sat in an open hall with a long table turned sideways.

On the left hand, Legolas sat with quill and notebook, keeping track of all the news.

The elves of Mirkwood hadn't had a logbook for long years, so much so Thranduil could remember seeing a scribe write in one as a child. He'd run away before he'd ever gotten the chance to hold that quill.

On his right hand, Tauriel sat in audience as captain of the guard and the leader of Silven Elves. Thorin sat next to the princess, speaking for the dwarves, Eomer on the side of Legolas for the Riders and other men.

Legolas scrawled the date in his neat, flowing hand, and the first rangers approached.

Five Riders of Rohan stood with their iron helms with horsehair streamers under their arm. "Dol Guldor is now secure. There was a small band of Urik-Hai, about a dozen, starting to try to breed wargs and other terrible creatures, but we slew the orcs and slaughtered the pups."

Legolas quickly scrawled the report down, and Thranduil looked at Eomer. "Double the count of your men." The Leader of the Riders replied. "10 men, and scout once every two weeks instead of once every four weeks."

The Riders nodded, bowed, and left the hall.

The dwarves scouting the wall stepped forward next. "We could use some more builders to help restore the wall. There was another raid, that's how the Urik-Hai probably got through. The wall took a lot with them. But the bodies piled too high. There was nothing there to stop their advances early on."

"Take 50 dwarves to restore the wall." Thorin replied.

"You could take double that of guard. We can spare them. They could defend the walls as best they could, torch the bodies to prevent a bridge from coming up, shoot them before they got too close to the wall." Tauriel suggested.

Thranduil nodded, and the scouts from Laketown and the Mountain stepped up. "10,000 Lakemen, most archers, insisted on coming with us for defense. The mountain fares well."

Thorin exhaled, relieved.

The other scouts sun such songs, of wellbeing.

When the rangers came from the south, Thranduil knew that was when there would be trouble.

Every day, he steeled himself to leave when a bargain became effective.

But those days kept spinning by, every morning at council.

One morning, near seven days after the marriage and presumed union of Legolas and Tauriel, Only one Rider came forth, blood and beaten.

Thranduil stood and raced forward, holding the ranger and he coughed and spat blood. "Laketown. Converging on Erebor." He whispered, blood bubbling from his lips and rushing down his chin.

Eomer stood and raced to be on the other side of the young boy as he kept whispering, "Coming to Erebor."

Thranduil and Eomer kept trying to calm the boy, but he wouldn't have it.

It had been quite lately, none but good reports. He should have known. Rangers didn't watch everywhere, not all the time, and the wall didn't span to completely close off access to Erebor. That would have been an impossible construct.

He gave Legolas a pointed look. "Make a note and prepare to ride for war." Legolas nodded and bounded off, Tauriel close behind.

They were all in the main hall, reading their weapons, when Legolas finally grabbed the last of the fighters. The boy's face fell when he saw Tauriel readying for war.

Legolas stalked over and glowered at Tauriel. "What do you think you're doing?" Legolas asked, but his manner was gentle.

"Riding off to war, to join my people. To lead them." Tauriel replied, letting her arms hang at her side. Legolas squinted at her.

"You thought you could avoid me?"

"Only until we left Mirkwood." Tauriel replied, hanging her head like a scolded child. "Then, I figured you wouldn't send me home."

"If we got to Erebor, I'd send you back. Just not alone." Legolas replied. "Please, just stay."

Tauriel sighed. "I'm going stir crazy! I've been sitting around here for five months! I could handle it, but I can't handle it alone." Tauriel's voice grew softer as her sentences drew to a close. "I can't do it alone."

"I'll be back in time. You don't have to face it alone, I promise.

"That's exactly what my dad told my mom, before he came back home too late, and didn't have time to grab anything before they started tearing them away."

Legolas pulled her close, his hand on the back of her head, holding her against his chest. She was hugging back weakly, soft whispers of sobs floating into Thranduil's realm of hearing.

Tauriel stood just outside the gate, still sore at being left behind. Still angry. But subdued enough to have finally agreed to stay back.

The company rode east to Erebor.

They followed the river, hardly stopping to rest.

What they came upon made Thranduil gasp.

Destruction. Murder. The land had been raped and sacked, ash hung in the air. The men of Laketown fell to their knees, weeping. Everyone began to cough as exposure filled the air.

"We must make for Erebor!" Thorin called. Thranduil nodded.

"We'll have to fight our way through!"

"So be it!" Screamed Thranduil as he spurred his moose into the ugly fray, searching for the seeming last safe haven in Middle Earth.

It didn't happen fast .The arrow that pinned him to his elk screamed ass he yanked and tried to tear away from the dead body of his old companion.

Thousands of Urik-Hai were swarming, pounding at the gates. Thranduil reached down and cut at the arrow, pulling himself up, but falling to the ground as a wayward blade smacked full force into his chest, cracking plate and mail.

Legolas' fearful face turned to stare at his father, and the boy began to run forward, but Alvett grasped his arm. The elf prince was snapped backward painfully, a blade just missing his neck. "GO!" Thranduil screamed, but Legolas still pulled at his bonds, shoving with all his strength. The clash of steel rang out, the screams of dying men, blade crushing through mail.

These were the people who he'd sworn to protect. Thranduil knew it was time to step up. "STOP!" The elven king's voice rose, and every orc took up the cry. "IT IS ME YOU WANT! SO LET ME SPEAK TO YOUR LEADER, AND LET THESE INNOCENT MEN RETURN TO THEIR HOMES!"

On perfect cue, Alvett reached up with a blade and cut the bongs holding Legolas' hair back, so it would fall forward and obscure his true identity.

The orcs all around him grumbled assent, and Thranduil looked at his boy as the orcs bound his hands and shoved him on his knees. Several dwarves were expending full strength to hold the boy back. Proud and strong, the prince was.

Thranduil's thoughts were busy begging Alvett and Thorin to watch over Legolas, begged the boy not to act a fool. Or was it too late to beg for such things? Thranduil didn't know.

What he did know was the leader of the orcs when he saw it.

The biggest orc Thranduil had ever seen walked up, gnashing his teeth awfully. "You want to make a deal?" Leader asked through horribly rotten teeth. Al he could hear was his little brothers' screams as his soul was twisted and tempered.

"Yes." Thranduil replied, fighting to look at the horrid creature, even though he rather didn't want to.

"Why should I be interested?" Thranduil fought a cry of pain as he was shoved to the ground and the Leader smashed his arm even worse under his foot.

"It's me you want, you want my power. For it was my power that helped slay your brothers. You become weary of this game, loosing so much more of your family at the hands of my forces. I say take my life, and only my life. Take my power, but leave Mirkwood be. Leave my son and his wife and their child to rule in Mirkwood. They will never take arms against you again."

"Good deal." The leader raised his blade, two other orcs grabbed the king and held him. The blade sung as it pushed aside the air to slice, death almost came….

But it didn't. "Wait." Thranduil called, when the blade was seconds from crushing and killing him.

All the orcs sighed and screamed in rage. "What!" The leader screamed, foam leaping from his mouth in a feral rage.

"Four months. My son fathered a child not five months ago, and it will come in another four. If you let my son leave and return to his wife now, I would be grateful. If you would let me see the birth of my grandchild…"

"Sentimentality!" The leader screamed in rage, his smashed in face so close their noses might have met, under better circumstances for the orc's nose. "You are weak with sentimentality!" White foam splashed into Thranduil's face, the orcs awful breath bathing him, his rotten and falling teeth scraping back skin.

"If you let me do this, I will come to you soon after the child's birth without mail or plate, even bare skinned should you want that. No blade. I will not wear my war crown. You will have killed a king, true and fair."

The orc seemed to consider it for a moment.

"Such is the only way to kill a king."


	4. Chapter 4

Thranduil Part 4

Thranduil felt as if he was standing guard, as if his staying up late into the night despite all the stresses a soak and nap would relieve him of was actually helping somebody.

Or maybe it was.

Legolas had stayed with Tauriel for near on three weeks now, hardly getting much sleep and food himself. As her date approached, Tauriel became more and more anxious and nervous. Not to mention scared.

Thranduil's son was out, bathing and shoving his face with food. Tauriel napped on a rug in front of one of the very few hearths that existed, a blanket up around her shoulders. She was shivering wildly, and the fire was turning to ashes.

Thranduil strode down to the fire and put a few more dead logs from the burned trees to invoke the flame.

The princess murmured softly and rubbed her eye, getting up on the opposite elbow. "Legolas?"

Thranduil noticed her voice was faint and soft instead of powerful and commanding. "No." He replied sadly. She didn't look to good.

"Where is he?" Tauriel asked, sitting and trying to stand up and nearly falling, if Thranduil hadn't been there to catch her.

"He just went to bathe and feast. He will be back." Thranduil whispered, laying her back down and covering her with the blanket. She was shaking and trembling, but wisps of red hair that fell from a messy, off-hand braid clung to her brow and neck, plastered down with sweat. Her eyes were wide and her pupils had mostly taken over the green.

Tauriel fought to sit up, but looked about ready to loose dinner. Thranduil sat down and put an arm around her shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Tauriel shook her head. "No." Her jaw was set firm, as if to hide a nervous clacking. "I'm not okay. I'm scared."

Thranduil nodded. "I know. If it makes you feel any better, I'm scared too. I was scared when Legolas was born."

"You were?" Tauriel asked, childlike in her need to be comforted. Thranduil could imagine Arwen was like that in her last days.

"Yeah. I can't imagine what my wife was going through."

Tauriel snorted. Thranduil himself fought back a snort of his own at her snort. She was so endearing. It was easy to see how Legolas had fallen in love. "One quick question."

"Hmm?" Tauriel looked at him, her large eyes a little terrifying in the partial darkness.

"How old are you?"

Tauriel stared into the flames, considering the answer carefully. "I'm not sure."

Thranduil felt a pang of sadness for her. She was young enough that she shouldn't have forgotten, or so it seemed. The king knew all about forgetting. All about how much it hurt. He was sure Legolas did too.

Thranduil stood and went to look out the door to check for Legolas when the boy appeared. Tauriel seemed glad at his returning.

The prince sat down next to his princess, and she nuzzled up against him gently, and Legolas opened his arms for her, accepting her into his chest.

It was easy for Thranduil to lose time, and lose it he did. It felt as if one moment he had been watching them in the dark, Legolas holding his lover to his chest, the next moment the late morning light was filtering through many trees.

The day went by quickly, and the first half of the night as well.

The moon was high in the sky, the time must have been around high night, when Legolas ran for a healer.

Tauriel was panting and shivering and sweating at the same time, a groan escaping from her lips now and again.

Legolas had her head in his lap, holding one of her hands and holding a comforting hand on one shoulder.

Tears of pain ran down her cheeks, whimpers escaping through clenched teeth unbidden. Thranduil remembered the birth of Legolas. That was the one day he'd counted the hours. There had been eight, full of blood and whimpering and crying, ending in the screaming of both his wife and the new born. But when the deed had been done, he'd pulled her up to sit against him instead of lay, and she laughed and smiled at the babe that squalled.

Legolas had been a beautiful child, strong and nearly always hungry, so it seemed. His large eyes seemed to look into his father's soul even then. His tiny hands had reached up and poked him in the eye. Elerrian had thought that was the funniest thing ever. Thranduil had laughed as he rubbed the pain out of his eye.

Elerrian had done well. Birthing and raising Legolas, before she'd died. Something inside Thranduil told him Tauriel would do well where Elerrian had sadly failed. She wouldn't just ride off for revenge and leave a young child behind without so much as longing in her heart. Tauriel would lend everything to her child, and the kid would grow up big and strong, just like Legolas did.

Not even the soon-to-be mothers' shrieks could drown out his thoughts about the future. The future he wouldn't see, couldn't see.

He would hold the newborn babe, Thranduil decided. He would wait for three days, and like his wife, ride off to his death in the dark, where no one could stop him or question him. Or beg him. Because if someone begged him to stay, just like he'd begged Elerrian, he'd stay. His wife sure didn't.

Legolas was singing to Tauriel gently in elvish, trying to get her to calm down. For once, it didn't work very well.

Childbirth was the one pain no elf ever managed to escape. Eternity was a long time to stay a maid. The girls usually found someone, had a child, and found other things to do with their lives. Eternity was a long time to stay pure of love and drink and pleasure. Thranduil knew that's what cracked Elerrian eventually.

'Life is too long to deprive oneself of pleasure, Thranduil. I'm surprised you didn't know this already.' She'd told him once, before smothering herself against him, and both elves had tumbled into passion and nothingness together.

Even the memories made Thranduil blush, because every time he would realize she was so right, but also gone. Each memory burned like fire when he remembered the body he could no longer hold tight in joy or passion or sorrow.

Her cloak and body- what few scraps of skin and muscle that managed to still cling to the bones- had been burned and buried long ago.

Moisture came unwanted to his eyes, but Thranduil quickly brushed the water away before it could fall and betray him.

This was supposed to be a happy occasion. Though now it was just screams and blood, it would soon become another child, another prince or princess.

"Almost there." The words floated to Thranduil's ears through the fray of the dim room. Tauriel's panting lessened slowly, her hands unclenched a little more every moment, and her eyes began to clear. Tears stop streaming from her eyes. Her screams had been reduced to whimpers, then quickly became naught but distressed murmurs.

It was not a long wait before the healer whispered, "Good. It's over. Good."

Tauriel's breathing deepened, and the squalling of a newborn being shoved into the harsh world and breathing a first breath of air in a sudden rush burst forth.

Legolas scooted back against the wall at a more direct angle, and helped drag Tauriel to a sitting position.

Red swaddling clothes told Thranduil the child was a girl, and the king smiled despite himself. It had been since his grandmother that Mirkwood had had a queen.

Legolas wrapped his arms around his lover, his hands clasping underneath her own arms on her stomach.

The babe was experiencing its first pain; the first breath and realization of hunger. Thranduil couldn't help but wonder what the child's last pain would be.

Her mother looked down at her with love and relief and joy in her eyes as the babe stopped squalling for the ability to feed. Legolas kissed the side of Tauriel's face, and she smiled, turning slightly to meet him.

"I think Sólia." Legolas whispered, pulling back the red hair that had fallen from her braid. Thranduil remembered naming Legolas.

Tauriel smiled down at the child, and giggled when she stopped feasting to hiccup. "Sólia. I like that." The new mother shifted and Legolas bent over, kissing his daughter's head gently.

It was so sweet it almost burned Thranduil. Sólia. The king watched as his granddaughter feasted and eventually fell asleep, Tauriel in turn, and Legolas himself eventually drifting away.

The next day was filled with laughter as Legolas held his babe for the first time, swearing in dwarvish when the little girl pulled out some hairs.

Thranduil watched as the new parents cradled Sólia gently, Tauriel when the babe fed and slept, Legolas near every other moment. Those moments were sparse, but Legolas didn't seem to mind. The prince seemed to like watching Tauriel care for the child more.

"She is so fearsome on the battlefield, sometimes even in the training hall. She is fearsome and beautiful." Legolas said. "She is so aggressive in everything she does, talking, eating, fighting, loving. It is sometimes hard to see her gentle. But gentle she is, though she swears she isn't. Sólia brings out the mother Tauriel sometimes forgets that lives inside of her."

Thranduil nodded. It was nice. She held her child so gently, smiled down so lovingly, laughed so loudly. Sólia was like a sweet, but this one would never be left behind and forgotten.

The day before Thranduil had promised to go, Tauriel called him up. Legolas was off bathing after having gone hours holding Sólia whilst Tauriel had been away.

"I think it's time Sólia sees her grandfather's face." Tauriel smiled. The king sat down awkwardly next to her, and took the child gingerly.

"It's been thousands of years since I held my own child. He was so little, just like you." Thranduil told Sólia. The king knew the babe couldn't understand, but right then it didn't matter. Huge green eyes looked up at him. "My own child was more interested in crying then feeding. I must say, I am glad you feed more, but your mother might feel differently." Thranduil smiled.

Sólia's small hands wavered in the air, her small fingers reached up and found his eye. Thranduil shut the eye, feigning bitterness, and the little girl laughed heartily. "Not you too!" Thranduil gasped in a faked shocked voice. Sólia liked nothing more.

The mindset of new babes would always baffle Thranduil, who was so old himself. Sometimes, you didn't need to understand to love, and that's how Thranduil felt at that moment. "You're so beautiful."

Thranduil held the babe until she squirmed, clearly hungry. Thranduil felt his face become wet as he handed Sólia back. He held his grandchild for a fleeting ten minutes. That would be all he would get. Forever.

"Goodbye, Sólia."


	5. Chapter 5

Thranduil Part 5

Thranduil put the quill down, admiring his work in the dark of night. He unclipped his belt buckle and took Narya, his ring of power, off. He laid his most precious possessions next to the letter. His crown still rested on his head, but it wasn't his war crown.

His time had come to die. And he would face it.

His elk had died in the battles, and he only had a horse. It was a handsome mare, and he was loth to ride such a great beast to its death, but the orcs would become angry if he rode a slower and less sturdy mount. He was a king going to his grave. The orcs figured that Thranduil ought to be the part.

Legolas heard a commotion, come bagging around. Tauriel was asleep with the babe still feeding hungrily.

Down on the table in the main hall, Legolas noticed some shadows being cast by a flickering candle. The prince sped down the steps to catch the flame before it guttered out.

Something's wrong. The thought hit Legolas when he saw the quill, paper, and Thranduil's prized blade resting on the table. His father never went anywhere without it. The king even had it near at hand when he soaked and slept.

Legolas picked the parchment up and used the candle to light a torch. The message was scrawled in his father's kind hand.

Legolas,

I made a deal that day on the fields before Erebor. My life for the safety of Mirkwood.

I asked one simple favor, that I might see the birth of my son's child before I died. Rough though the orcs are, they allowed me this hollow comfort.

Admittedly, it has done little to make me feel any better about my dying being worthwhile, though it shall be.

I have left you my blade, Narya, my love, and above all, my crown.

I shouldn't dare trust orcs on any given day, so why should I trust them now? I have no answer to that question. Something inside me tells me this suthron band of orcs will hold their pact.

Take fair care of Mirkwood.

I would not advise adorning Narya. It is no lasting sense of vanity, I promise. It is a lasting sense of duty. That ring brought peace to Mirkwood, but the rulers before me didn't need it.

The ring had a powerful grasp. It ruled me more than I ruled it. It enslaved my heart, this Ring of Fire. I shouldn't wish you to look upon it.

The rings of Wind and Water will fall too, my son.

If you would take my advisement, place the ring in a buried hole at the base of the throne. It is no longer mine, but yours, and in turn it shall be your daughters. The ring will leave a lasting peace for your hearts.

I trust you with Mirkwood. Take fair care of her, Tauriel, and Sólia.

Take care, my son, for now I ride to my death.

Thranduil

A drop of wet added to those that already dotted the paper. Legolas clipped the sword belt on his waist, and ran to the stables.

There, he hastily mounted a steed and turned it to race out the door, only stopping it at the last second. His wife stood in the doorway, a grim set on her face.

"I'm coming with you."

"No. Sólia needs you here." Legolas objected.

"Not so much as you need me to protect you. She will be fine drinking the milk of a beast until we return."

"Why should you risk to come?"

"Arwen told me all that would happen, that we would have a child and Thranduil would ride to die. That you'd try to follow him. Arwen said it wasn't written that both king and prince of Mirkwood should die, and if Legolas should ride, you should come with. Only to see the death of the king, then to ride back safe."

"You birthed a child not four days ago. You cannot be yet sturdy enough to ride." Legolas said.

"I'm not, but I shall anyway." Tauriel mounted up and bade her horse ride forward. "ONWARD, MY KING!"

The orcs surrounded him.

The leader hissed in a manner that seemed a laugh. "I am surprised you came."

"I came for Sólia, my son's daughter."

"You came to ensure her protection. We keep our promises. Your death is all we want. We won't even kill the new parents, as they seem to wish to see your death."

Thranduil knit his brows, turning. In the middle of the thrall of orcs, his golden haired son and red haired daughter stood out. Both were on the edge, it was plain to see. But the Leader seemed to have no regard for them.

"It is time."

Thranduil nodded, and stood at attention. The Leader unsheathed his own blade, the only real sword the orcs carried. The others were in possession of sore saw-like blades. The fact that the cut would come clean and his death sudden did nothing to comfort Thranduil.

Time slowed, Thranduil's last blink seeming to last forever, his eyes opening again just in time to close in a wince of pain. Death didn't come yet.

The king put a hand to his stomach, and in a dream he rose it to his face, and saw only a lake of blood dripping. His hand flew back down, as if trying to stop the bleeding.

In his dying moments, Thranduil saw his wife. That's how he knew he was dying.

She was wreathed in the light of stars, her smile so beautiful and compelling he smiled himself. Thranduil reached his other hand out to his lost love, and she stepped forward slowly. The smile faded from her lips when she saw the wound.

Thranduil looked down to see what she was looking at. He gasped when he saw his hand failing to stem the tide of blood, a massive cut was gushing a flowing river of red. His gaping mouth filled with blood that had streamed into his stomach from the cut, and flew like heavy rain down his chin.

Weakly, Thranduil collapsed to his knees, and slowly raised his head to look at his love once again. She too fell to her knees in front of him, and he raised one bloody hand to stroke her bright red hair one last time. The color of his blood was impossible to tell from the color of her hair.

"Shhhh." She whispered, running her own pale thin hand along the side of his face to rest under his chin. Dying is a lot like sleeping, but when you die, it's kind of hard to wake up again."

Thranduil felt warmth wash over him, a certain joy coming into his heart.

"Oh, my lover, my prince, my king, here you fall. Here you come to sleep. Close your eyes now and rest, my falling king."

Blackness began to surround him as Thranduil obeyed. Panic lasted only for a moment, and then all pain faded, just like his vision.

She'd been right. Now that he was asleep, he found it hard to open his eyes. But in this sleep he forgot all of his pains, his first and only time holding Sólia, leaving without saying goodbye to Legolas, the pained look he seemed to faintly remember his son wearing at he tried to rush forward, only for Tauriel to hold him back.

It was all gone, he felt only warmth and love and comfort.

"My falling king." She whispered. "My king has finally seen the end."

No pain. No suffering. Only good. Only love.

"My fallen king."


	6. Chapter 6

Thranduil Part 6

Legolas awoke to a throb of pain. It struck at him like a blade; sudden and unexpected. At first, every moment had hurt. Then, the pain began to dwindle away. Not completely. The pain of loss could never truly vacate one's heart.

Even as he thought that, Legolas dismissed it. When he awoke on the day after his mother's death or her birthday, he felt nothing. Tauriel had been right. The pain of forgetting was even worse than remembering.

Which is why, through the passage of four thousand years, Legolas had thought about his father every day. He remembered Arwen every day. He remembered Galadriel and Brydda and Celeborn and Haldir every day. He remembered Elrond every day. He remembered Gandalf and Radaghast every day. He remembered Boromir and Faramir and Eomer and Eowyn every day. He remembered Aragorn and Frodo and Samwise and Peregrin and Meriadoc. He remembered Bilbo and Thorin and each of the dwarves.

Legolas had outlived each and every one of his friends. All he had left was his wife, his daughter, and his kingdom. This was the sorrow of the undying.

The first snow of the season was beginning to fall outside. Sólia was giggling, and Tauriel had a finger over her lips, whispering "Shhh." And giggling too. Sólia's golden hair was tied back so she could see in a fishtail braid that was a strange combination of the one Legolas wore and Tauriel's.

When the giggling and sneaking pair made it to a grassy clearing where the Feast of Starlight would happen later that day, Sólia broke away from her mother, and began laughing as the small and gentle snowflakes melted on her upturned face.

Sólia was already starting to grow up. Her hair was down past her elbows, her height boasted a few inches above Tauriel's knees, her bright green eyes saw more and learned more each day.

Legolas watched the two most important people in his world playing around in the snow.

This day was the Feast of Starlight. The day Thranduil died.

Legolas remembered coming home, dejected, unwarranted tears streaming down his face. His father was really gone; truly dead. There had been no feast. For three years afterwards, there had been no feast. The stars suddenly felt harsh and cold to Legolas.

Slowly, the tradition had bleed back into their yearly lives; the one thing elves in Mirkwood truly looked forward to. An eternity of feasts and joy.

Even now, the elves of Mirkwood were up and laughing, their singsong voices echoing not only through the space of Mirkwood, but the time of the kingdom of the forest as well.

"In this kingdom, we will endure." Thranduil had said once. He'd made sure that had happened, too.

The treat had been on Thranduil's life alone, and he'd faced it so that Mirkwood would suffer no sorrows. Ever since, the promise had remained true. Mirkwood had never been bothered again.

One by one, Legolas got word about the rest of the battles happening in Middle Earth, but for once Mirkwood was a safe haven.

First it had been Brydda, then word had come of Galadriel finally rotting away, alone and afraid. Then, the orcs had come for Rivendell. It was not long before Elrond had finally given up. Legolas knew his father's grief had kept him awake and haunted his nights and days for hundreds of years. Legolas also knew Elrond had been glad when the orcs came. All the King of Rivers had wanted was to be free.

Sometimes, Legolas did too. He wanted to fall asleep and never wake up. As the king of Mirkwood, he didn't have that luxury. He had a family to look after now. But that didn't mean he didn't fantasize sometimes. Fantasize about total freedom.

Legolas knew harboring thoughts like that hurt his father, wherever he might be. It hurt Thranduil to see his son thinking about dying, when the king had died to prevent his dying.

Thranduil had died to protect Legolas, Tauriel, Sólia, and all of Mirkwood. Sometimes, Legolas didn't know what to do, how to cope anymore. All he knew was his father gave everything up for him. He couldn't take that lightly.

"Thank you." Legolas whispered. "Thranduil Elvenking, father, thank you."


End file.
